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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 9:44:54 GMT -5
History and origins
For the past 17 years, I have been working on this story.
Its beginnings were in a fun exercise for myself and other 501st Sandtroopers. We all wrote up a 1-2 page bio for ourselves, creating a fictional backstory for our Sandtrooper persona. We formed a small local group called the 104th Moisture Farm Patrol. We had a group, we made patches, and now I was going to write our story.
I took the bios, and began writing what was to have been a 10 page or so story using our characters.
17 years, 38 chapters and roughly 179,000 words later, I am still working on this tale, which resides within the Original Trilogy timeline, coexisting with the events of our favorite films. It is told and seen as 'just outside the frame of the those camera lenses', or from a reverse angle, or 'B camera' perspective.
While I have made it through the timeline of the original 1977 film, and am just catching up to the EMPIRE timeline, it is still VERY much a work in progress.
It was written in a stream-of-consciousness fashion on breaks and lunches at my job, after I put my then-young kids to bed, at the beach, or whenever I had a few moments of inspiration. It was begun before Rogue One was even thought of, much less canon, and originally utilized pre-Star Wars inspiration and tie-in from the “stolen death star plans” events of the NPR Radioplay. It has had little to no editing until now.
This year, I have begun at the beginning, working my way through the story, chapter by chapter, trying to update it with what is now canon data from Rogue One, Solo, Clone Wars, REBELS, Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Mandalorian, The Book of Boba Fett, ANDOR, and will continue to examine/edit it as new shows emerge.
If you decide to read, I would love to hear feedback. I’m not a professional writer, so please remember that and try to be kind.
If you have ideas for cool things you would like to see happen, or questions, I’d love to hear them.
As in the past, work on this is done as I can get to it. Please be patient, and please enjoy.
A single star ( * ) indicates a pause or jump within the same scene
Multiple stars ( * * * ) indicates a jump to a new scene or location
Foreword
Amid the ranks of Imperial Stormtroopers there are numerous divisions of troops, adapted for varying environments and specialties. Few of these assignments are as grueling as that of the Sandtrooper. Scattered across countless desert worlds, they live, work, and die in places most people would rather forget.
Most are Imperial law enforcement officers assigned to keep the peace, maintain order, and protect the citizens on their beat. Some, however, operate outside the official scope of the Empire.
This is the story of such a group.
Prologue
Although the two thermal detonators themselves did not vibrate in any way, I swear I could feel the restrained energy awaiting release within the two orbs in my outstretched hands. In the dim light between the cloaked figure and me, tiny embedded lights in the detonators pulsed on and off. I was fully prepared to discharge both devices, definitively concluding the paths of two warriors, and departing life in this moment, if it became necessary.
My lightsaber lay on a stone workbench on the second level of the cave. The blade I had used to hunt and execute countless numbers of his kind during ‘The Purge’ would not save me this time. As I had been taught years before, my mind was clear and guarded. There would be no tricks played by the Jedi who stood between the cave opening and me.
My preoccupation with the job at hand must have been thoroughly distracting, or he was exceptionally powerful, for by the time his approach was felt, it was too late.
In the seemingly endless space between the nanoseconds that now ticked away, my mind raced, crashing through a cascade of memories as I recalled the chain of events that had brought us both to this singular moment . . .
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 9:57:07 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 1 - Origins
In the last years of the Old Republic, leaders of industry and the Mining Guild were assembled by Count Dooku to form a select sub-group of the Trade Federation. None were aware that Dooku was secretly Darth Tyranus, apprentice to the Sith Lord Darth Sidious.
His Master, Sidious, had been masquerading under the guise of Naboo’s Senator Palpatine, and would eventually become Emperor. The veiled agenda motivating the group’s formation lay in the need for pooled resources to bring a sickeningly monstrous undertaking to fruition.
It was in the early stages of battles that would later become known as the Clone Wars, that Dooku and a team of Geonosian design experts successfully completed phase one of the project. Once the plans were complete, he immediately launched the covert construction of a weapon that would carry the Trade Federation and his Sith master into a new era of galactic domination and unimaginable power.
The sheer scope of their plan was staggering, not only in physical size, but also in the scale of the deception. Donor planets represented by the guild were gutted for the ores required; stripped of their raw materials. As mining efforts were withdrawn, and the jobs they had brought with them disappeared, the planets were left behind as mere shells of what they had once been, all but dying out entirely; barren reminders of the Empire’s blind ambition.
In extreme cases, the air itself had been all but destroyed in the process of extraction. Breathable gases had to be collected from what remained of the atmosphere and forced into contained cities. In the more fortunate locations, only moisture needed coaxing from the air using evaporative collection units.
The project was kept hidden from everyone except those directly involved. Once construction began, the structural design team was summoned to an emergency meeting. While en route to the meeting, their transport shuttle fell victim to what some refer to as a “horrible navigational mishap”. The ship’s nav’ computer was somehow set for a lightspeed jump on a course directly through a star. The ship was vaporized, and tragically, the crew, the team, and their collective knowledge of the project was lost.
Orson Krennic, director of Advanced Weapons Research for the Imperial military, retained the weapons design lead, Moff Rebus and his team, as the construction and installation of the Superlaser and its systems were still in development, and would be among the last to go live. Rebus would factor into my life years later, during my missions on Anoat.
Harvesting of Kyber crystals was in full swing across the galaxy at all known sources and repositories, as they were to be the power source of the weapon. Galen Erso had been experimenting with both natural and synthetic Kyber crystals in his energy-focused research for Zerpen Industries on Vallt. This research did not escape Krennic, a longtime acquaintance of Galen, his wife Lyra, and their young daughter Jyn.
Krennic had orchestrated a staged rescue of the Ersos from imprisonment on Vallt during a local civil unrest. He leveraged the implied indebtedness, swiftly coercing his longtime acquaintance into service, all the while wooing him with every resource of the Empire at his disposal for the continuation of his scientific studies. Erso reluctantly accepted, after having found it difficult to secure employment and provide for his family upon their return to Coruscant.
In the years that unfolded during the course of the ravaging Clone Wars, General Grievous was sought and ultimately destroyed by General Obi Wan Kenobi. Darth Sidious was entrenched deeper than ever in his plan to unravel the fabric of the Republic, and as the beginning of the end, Sidious’ Sith apprentice, Count Dooku, was slain by Anakin Skywalker; beheaded by his own blade in combat.
Since Skywalker’s youth, subtle manipulation by Palpatine had gained the trust of the powerful young Jedi, and a crooked path was presented for him to follow. It lead him to a decision-making crossroad where ultimately he would not only replace Dooku as a Sith apprentice, he would do so of his own choosing. The newly-annointed Sith lord, Darth Vader, would be instrumental in the complete and utter eradication of the Jedi protectors of the Republic who stood directly in the way of his new master’s power play.
By the time the Jedi temple fell under Lord Vader’s hand, and Order 66 was being carried out by clone units across the galaxy, the skeletal framework of the project was nearing completion.
Raw materials from all corners of the mining guild were funneled to its remote location for continuation of the work. Dooku and troops from Vader’s 501st Legion had succeeded in skillfully hiding the project from even the Jedi. Emperor Palpatine was so impressed, he commissioned a hand-picked Garrison from those troops that had overrun the Jedi temple. Once selected, they were placed in charge of security for the station’s remaining stages of construction.
To honor his fallen apprentice, the newly formed group would be known as: GARRISON TYRANUS.
I was raised on Tenaab, which had thankfully avoided the gutting so many other planets had endured, mainly because of the Imperial shipyards located there. It had very harsh cold seasons, so my family would spend that time with relatives on nearby Corellia. My father was an engineer, and my mother worked for an unnamed Imperial agency. She spoke little of it, and I never pushed to know more than she offered.
When I was old enough, I worked for my father at Industrial Automaton, building astromech droids. It was this work that revealed my love of engineering, design, and construction. Industrial Automaton, at that time, before their merger with Soro-Suub, was a wholly owned subsidiary of BlasTech Industries. I spent my last few seasons on Tenaab working for BlasTech designing field cannons and orbital platform armaments.
After my shift, I would sometimes hang around the docks to watch Imperial Cargo ships arrive, with Stormtrooper guards picking up container after container of E-11’s. I knew someday I wanted to be one of them, but still being slightly underage, that was as close as I could get to the action of the Empire.
Over the next two seasons of my “life before the Empire” I learned how to install intelligent turbolifts, air handlers, trash compactors, and garbage chutes while interning in the Tenaab shipyards. I spent a great deal of time deep in the bellies of some massive starships. As one of my installation assignments came to a close I was selected, along with a group of several hundred other workers, for a new project that would last several seasons. At the new, clandestine location, we installed garbage chutes, trash compacters, water and air-recycling systems, and turbolifts on an enormous project that dwarfed any I had previously worked.
On one occasion I asked one of the Stormtrooper guards what the huge skeletal framework was supposed to be for. I was quickly told it was better to know less and live longer. I had worked on many different class of starships over the years, and it didn’t look like any ship I had ever seen. It looked more like some kind of immense outpost or space station, but I kept my observations quietly to myself. My interest, however, was irretrievably piqued, and it was there that I signed up with the Empire. I was accepted into Stormtrooper training and shipped off to Carida for nearly a year of intense training.
The construction project continued to move ahead as I trained. Its scale had never before been equaled in all of recorded history; the final product would be roughly the size of a Class IV moon. By compartmentalizing the multitude of tasks, secrecy was maintained even from those working on it.
With the humble beginnings of what would become the Rebellion, supply lines became compromised in some sectors. The small, disconnected resistance cells had no idea what supplies they were diverting or destroying. They simply knew the cargo was stamped with an Imperial security code, and they attacked the defenseless federation convoys. The ambushes spooked many of the regular civilian suppliers. They were transport pilots with families, just working for a paycheck. After the first wave of attacks, many walked away from the job. Those that remained were smugglers for the most part; less than reputable and suspect in and of themselves.
Shortly after the end of the final clone battles on Kashyyyk, many of the Wookiee survivors were enslaved across the galaxy, taken to work on the construction. In the years that followed, there were several instances of small, unorganized uprisings among the Wookiees, which were dealt with swiftly and brutally.
On Mimban, one young Imperial deserter broke out of his holding cell with one of the imprisoned Wookiees, escaping with a band of smugglers in a stolen Imperial ship. This same deserter would later inadvertently free even more Wookiees during a Coaxium theft on Kessel. The rogue pilot was never identified.
After my graduation from the Academy, I was assigned to Garrison Tyranus and sent for more training in a small unit on Jakku. The arid landscape there served as a perfect proving ground for practicing and honing desert survival techniques and skills I had learned in the classroom. Although the assignment was far more intense and challenging than I had ever expected, I enjoyed it, and asked to remain deployed there as a TD designated Sandtrooper.
I settled in with a small squad of troops in charge of monitoring several mining facilities, each of which fed a constant stream of ore transports to the project build site. In the several years that followed, I kept in contact with others from my garrison who were assigned as security for “the project”. They kept me up to date as I trained to become a sniper, mastering the DLT-19. Soon thereafter, shipments of ore ceased from Tatooine, but continued steadily from Jakku until many years after my departure.
Somewhere along the line I lost touch with the troops working security, and my interests were pulled in other directions as my assignments called me to many new places across the galaxy.
While my friends at the project build site had been able to maintain security, they didn’t have the numbers needed to repel any serious external assaults or onboard insurrections should they have arisen. The project had also grown too large to keep concealed from long-range scanners.
Loyalists from Alderaan and many other inner systems were merging efforts to scan for possible remote building sites. They feared the very covert operations that were currently under way. They hoped to one day regain the peace they had known before the Empire, and acted to protect the remaining civilized pockets of their broken Republic.
Remote listening posts, comp scanners and orbital signal-jamming platforms were deployed to assist in keeping the draped veil securely in front of the project. Behind the shroud, armored ground assault vehicles, TIE squadrons, speeder bikes and a weapons stockpile including hand-to-hand weapons along with larger scale, sonic charges was amassed.
In all, the project progressed for nearly twenty standard years from its inception until all systems were finally brought online, and its existence was made known; its name revealed . . . Death Star.
With only the final installation of the completed Superlaser remaining, some members of the security team headed by Garrison Tyranus was reassigned to other duties close to the Sith Lord. Some were dispatched to temporary assignments on the new battle station, some to duty onboard Star Destroyers, with the remainder being assigned to various other posts, depending on their training and specialty.
Sometime later, some of the members of Garrison Tyranus were assembled into a small patrol unit, assigned to re-establish an Imperial presence in the closed outpost on Tatooine.
It was with the formation of this new unit that my standing transfer request was finally answered. Late in the day, as I was returning from a 3 day mission in the caves beneath Anoat City, my CO confirmed the transfer.
“Deckard, I just got the holonet confirmation of your transfer approval. I don’t remember signing off on this, but I guess I must have if it’s going through.”
“Thank you, sir” I replied.
“So, what’d you find this time out?” he asked.
I shouldered my rifle and glanced back toward the entrance of the caves, “It went as well as could be expected. We found traces of old camp locations Rebus used, but no luck locating his . . .”
I turned my head back around to look at my CO, only to find that he had walked away from me as I was in the middle of my reply. This had become typical and was not completely without some level of anticipation, but it still pissed me off. He must have had a sudden, urgent need to check in with headquarters. I often wondered if he ever did any work at all. The rest of us in his unit were constantly pulling his weight and making the difficult, necessary decisions while he disappeared at critical moments.
I glanced skyward. Dark clouds were slowly gathering, and moisture hung heavy in the air as night came on, preparing to dump yet more water on us.
I entered my barracks, hurriedly gathered my gear together and slipped off my armor. I sat down, flipped open my field holonet pack and keyed a special request to the pilot of the shuttle that would be arriving in the morning. Confirmation of my sent message flashed 3 times on the small screen. I leaned back in the chair and switched it off. I was finally getting out of here.
That pleasant thought lingered in my mind as I stood up and crossed the small space to my bunk. I rolled in and lay my head back on the pillow. After the day I had had, I was just too tired to eat, even though my empty stomach growled its protesting disagreement. Images from the past several days flashed through my thoughts as my closed eyes burned. The sound of rain beginning to fall became an elemental, hypnotic rhythm, and my breathing slowed and steadied as I gave in to the seductive reprieve of sleep.
* * *
I awoke with a heart-pounding start to the blare of the claxon mounted on the wall of the barracks. Other troopers began slipping on their gear and heading out for chow. It was almost light, and I knew my shuttle would be there soon. I gathered the few personal belongings I had and shoved them into my gear bag. As I was drawing the closure tight, I heard the whine of engines overhead. Standing anxiously, I crossed the room to the door and pushed it open.
The rain had stopped and through the haze of humidity I could see the morning shuttle arriving on the landing platform. I slipped through the door and jogged the short distance to the base of the platform and took the stairs 2 at a time. As I reached the top and stepped onto the landing pad, I noticed the ground crew already at work unloading supplies from the hold. The pilot was going over the manifest with them when I came running up. He shot me a look, shook his head and smiling, threw me a small, light pouch.
“I guess you got my message?” I said, snapping a quick, relaxed two-fingered salute his way as I turned away, racing off down the steps.
“This is a short turnaround, hurry Up, Deckard!” he shouted after me.
I ripped open the pouch as I disappeared down the stairs. Out slid a new black thermal body glove. I held it to my face and breathed in deeply; it smelled new, nothing like the filthy sewers of Anoat, the way mine did. I had been on this rock for several years, and there had never been any point to getting a new one, knowing I would just be going back into the sludge and muck below in the caves and sewers. But now, well, now was a different story, I thought, as I entered the barracks. Now I was getting out of here. No more lizard-ants. No more sewers.
I threw open the door to the shower, as I stripped off the disgusting old body suit. A short time later, I emerged again, clean and adjusting the fit of the new suit. I tossed the old one in the waste chute and slipped on my armor. Grabbing my gear bag, rifle, environmental backpack and helmet, I took one last look around, then walked out toward the shuttle.
This morning, I chewed on a high-energy ration bar for my breakfast as I walked up the boarding ramp into the ship. The last of the supplies had been offloaded and the pilot was just bringing the engines online for our departure. I walked between the twin rows of jump seats. I moved all the way forward, just behind the gunner’s seat and folded my metal seat down. Restraint harnesses hung from the bulkhead in a row behind the seats. I clipped my rifle into the mounted rack in the center of the aisle, and dropped my gear bag and pack to the deck, kicking them back under my seat.
I placed my bucket down in front of them and stepped one leg into the harness as I sat down. The thin metal was cold and hard, I thought, as I pulled the restraint up. In the grand scheme of things, it really didn’t matter as long as I was leaving this place! I put one arm through a hanging strap, then the other and clipped the two halves of the harness together with the crotch strap into the center clasp at my chest. I settled in for what was likely to be only the first leg of a very long flight.
The boarding ramp retracted and rose into the stowed position, airlocks sealing with a hiss. The pilot called back to me, “You in?”
I yelled back to be heard over the engines, “Let’s get out of here before somebody changes their mind!”
I felt the ship lift under the force of its’ repulsor field, and heard the engines’ whine rising to a loud, dull roar as the shuttle rose further away from the deck. It pivoted, climbing skyward as the landing gear retracted with a thump beneath me.
The row of stowed jump seats rattled and the swinging restraint harnesses jangled noisily as the upward reaching wings lowered into their familiar triangular shape.
I leaned forward, peering out the port in front of the gunner’s seat, and watched Anoat slip into the archives of my past tours of duty as we accelerated away into the darkness toward my new post. I closed my eyes and rested my head back against the cold, vibrating bulkhead.
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 10:11:37 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 2 - Journey Toward Destiny (Part 1 of 3)
Coruscant . . . a planet that had been developed and cultivated over the millennia into one all-encompassing city. The bustling, shining beacon in the center of the known galaxy was once home to the Jedi Temple and the Galactic Senate of the Old Republic. It was here, beginning with the slaughter of the unsuspecting Jedi by Darth Vader and our troops of the 501st Legion, and continuing with the rise of Emperor Palpatine, the Old Republic crumbled and fell away under the crushing weight of the new Galactic Empire.
The last remaining decent members of the Senate were removed, the integrity of its offices breeched and quickly overrun with beauraucrats, fat from their business associations with the Emperor's New Order.
Many years had passed since those last days of the Clone Wars, and the first days of turbulence and transition that followed under the Empire. Much that was valued had been lost. The innocent grandeur and the stability of power and reason within the Republic had been splintered into a million ruined shards, scattered to the four corners of the galaxy.
The Jedi were mercilessly sought, hunted down and exterminated. It was believed that when the blasters were silenced on the fourth day following the enactment of Order 66, nearly all had been killed, master and youngling alike, save the Emperor's new Sith apprentice Darth Vader. He once had been a great Jedi warrior and hero of the Republic before his turn to embrace the darker teachings of the Force.
Coruscant weathered the storm silently, like tall grass in a strong wind, yielding to the revolution, the transition of power. The city lights winked and shimmered like stars across the planet's surface as a lumbering freighter requested clearance to set down in the Imperial shipyards just outside Imperial City.
*
Sparks erupted from the welding tool and rained down over gloved hands as Taka attached the scope rail to the barrel of his custom rifle. He switched off the welder and pushed dark safety goggles up onto the top of his head as he rolled in his chair over to check the crackling request coming through on the comm station.
He glanced to an adjacent screen for clearance code transmission. It was the Resolute Servant, inbound heavy freighter from Muskree.
Checking docking availability, he keyed the comm to respond, “Resolute Servant, you are cleared for approach to landing pad sector 138011. A ground team will be readied and awaiting your arrival.” He keyed off the comm and logged them into the appropriate slot. Then he rolled his chair back to the rifle. He screwed the new scope securely in place; it fit down perfectly into the freshly attached mount.
The grounding clips pulled loose from the gun with a jerk of his hand as he unclamped the long barrel and blew away several curled metal shavings. The scope flickered to life as he inserted a power cell clip. Raising the new gun to his shoulder, he looked into the eyepiece. The reticle imaging floated over a rusted bolt head protruding from the wall on the far side of the room.
He flicked off the safety and fired a single blast of crimson. The bolt head and two centimeters of the rusted metal plate on either side was instantly vaporized in a bright flash. A small stream of smoke rose from the blast point as he lifted his eye from the scope to inspect the damage, “Now that’s more like it!”
A voice called out from the hallway, “HEY! Don’t shoot, I’m just looking for my shuttle assignment!” A dirty, armored trooper stuck his head through the door, gearbag over his shoulder and E-11 blaster drawn and held out.
Taka lowered his rifle, “Sorry, just testing some new sight modifications. Who are you? Where are you headed?”
"There are a couple of us here. I’m Ddraig Masnachwr, TD-3195.”
Two other troopers pushed through the door behind him, “Folson Danz, TD-8733 here and TD-1265 as well.”
Danz looked at 1265 and asked, “Wasn’t the new guy, 1344, supposed to be heading out with us too?”
1265 nodded his head. “Yeah, he’ll be here, he’s tying up some loose ends regarding his transfer. He said he would meet us at the ship.”
Ddraig looked over his shoulder, then spoke in a hushed tone, "You know, I heard something from a friend that works security at Imperial Center. Danlin Falker, TD1344, was a Captain and Commander of a covert Recon and Assault unit until he got busted down to Stormtrooper and reassigned."
"What'd he do?" asked Danz.
Ddraig shook his head, "I'm not sure. My friend said when he went looking for more details, all that information was marked classified. Whatever it was, he must have pissed off the wrong person. He's shipping out for his new assignment on this flight with us."
Taka looked them over a bit as memories of his own reassignment after Belliran V resurfaced in his thoughts. “OK, let me see your ID holo tags.”
They all leaned in closer and pulled out their tags. As he scanned them, he realized they were all assigned to the same flight he had been scheduled for. He was getting a new post assignment, very hush-hush, no information offered as to destination, but a new destination nonetheless.
A new assignment would be a welcome thing. This office was definitely a dead-end. “Looks like we’ll be flying together for awhile. You guys are on the same ship out as me. Unfortunately it won’t be a shuttle. We’ve been bumped to a small cargo ship. Let me grab my things and we can walk out there together, my shift here is just about over.”
*
Danlin Falker, with gear and rifle slung over his shoulder, raced out of the front of the administration building adjacent to Imperial Center. He ran through the crowds across the open plaza toward the loaded air taxi as it rose from its boarding stall and slipped into the congested lanes of traffic in the late afternoon sky. It had been that kind of day to be sure, he thought, as he threw off his gear bag and sat down, bucket in hand, on a bench to wait for the next taxi.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as the events of the past few days replayed over and over in his head and faint memories of the past crept out. He barely remembered being here so many years ago as a child, before the truth about his uncle had been exposed and his family had paid the price for it. When he was eight, his mother had entrusted him with the information that his uncle was a Jedi Knight. He idolized his uncle, and was eager to become a Jedi himself. Unfortunately, a low midichlorian count had prevented him from joining the order.
It was during the failed Jedi attempt to seize power of the Republic and overthrow his Excellency, Chancellor Palpatine, that his uncle was killed while trying to assassinate a group of senior Clone officers. He was stunned by the news and both saddened and angered that his dead uncle was a traitor against the Republic. Between this and the bitterness he felt from being denied his own entry for training, he lost all faith in the Jedi and their ways.
The family business was seized, and all privileges stripped from them. His mother swore it was not because of their association with the Jedi, but he knew in his heart that his uncle had betrayed them. Indeed, all of the Jedi had betrayed the very people they were sworn to protect. Those first days of Order 66 were a very dark time to live in the last gasps of the Republic, and darker still if you were associated in any way with the Jedi.
He remembered attending the schools here on Coruscant, before his family had been forced to move to Nar Shadda, and a life far away from their ties with the Jedi. Life was hard on Nar Shadda, but he somehow managed to secure a decent education and was ultimately accepted into the Imperial Naval Academy on Carida, under an assumed name.
He worked hard and displayed a sharp mind and a keen sense of both military and unconventional tactics. Following his uneventful graduation, he had been assigned to the 35th Planetary Assault Squadron.
Following a promotion, he became a detachment leader specializing in recon, boarding, and neutralization of orbital defense platforms. It was not until just a standard week ago, during a background inquiry performed by his CO, that his true name was discovered.
He had lied to the Academy entry board, his troops and his superiors, and his family had known ties to a traitorous Jedi. Still, his service record was exemplary and his loyalty to the Empire unswerving. Senior Command agreed, following a passed Internal Security Bureau loyalty test, he would be allowed to continue serving, but would be demoted, stripped of his command and reassigned to the ranks of the Stormtrooper corps.
Now, just days later, he sat in the dirty armor he had trained in, waiting for an air taxi to take him to a ship that would connect him to his new assignment. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes as he heard another taxi approaching.
He gathered his gear and moved closer to the edge of the boarding platform as the large vehicle slowed and settled alongside the gated stall. There were no others waiting as the gates opened, and he made his way into the crowded lower level. With barely even standing room available there, he decided to go up the stairs to the open, upper deck. There were only a handful of others up there; a few couples enjoying the cool air and the romantic sunset.
There were many comfortable seats available along the handrail at the outer edge where he dropped his things and sat. Two low warning tones sounded, and the entry gates closed as the taxi pulled away from Imperial Center. The air was cooling off a bit now after a hot day, and the sun was setting in a beautiful, tragic tapestry of quickly fading color and light that painted the Coruscant sky. The wind lifted his hair and made him squint as the large vehicle slipped through the travel lanes and headed a bit further out toward the shipyards and the large waterfront estates of the rich beyond them.
Cool air and silence was just what he needed to clear his head before he shipped out. A tall, narrow docking tower rose up ahead, connecting the travel lane with the shipyards below. He pressed a small button on the handrail indicating a stop there was needed, grabbed his gear, and made his way down the stairs again. The air vehicle slowed and glided to a gentle stop alongside the tower. The two tones sounded and the gates opened. He stepped out to the durasteel platform.
The tones sounded again, the gates closed behind him and the air taxi moved away, leaving him alone and in silence, except the whipping of the wind. The view from this height was both dizzying and amazing. The tall structures of Imperial City had been left behind, and the massive, open expanse of the shipyards now stretched out beneath him, filled with vessels of all types arriving, unloading, boarding, and departing.
He felt the tower sway somewhat as he stepped into the turbolift and selected the button for ground-level. The lift dropped quickly toward the duracrete surface below, as there were no stops along the spindly tower. He closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath, held it for a few seconds and then let it out slowly. Another tone sounded as the lift slowed and came to a stop. The doors opened and Falker stepped out onto the wide expanse of the Imperial Shipyards.
* * *
I was awakened by the clattering of Impervium on the deck plates. I jerked my head up and squinted in the direction of the noise. A tall trooper was clipping his rifle into the center rack at the back of the row on the opposite side of the shuttle from me. His dropped helmet was rocking back and forth on the floor at his feet where it had been dropped. It was scarred with a single blast mark singed across the left eyepiece. I closed my eyes, squeezed them tight and opened them again as they adjusted to the light streaming in the rear hatch.
We were in a hangar bay somewhere. A DL-997 Cargo-Loading 'Droid further back in the hold behind this new trooper switched off its' shoulder-mounted flood lamps as it finished securing a supply crate. It then turned and retreated down the inclined ramp to the hangar bay outside.
I lifted my own bucket up and flipped on the chin switch for the navigational pane as the new guy stowed the rest of his gear. The tiny display showed a rotating Star Destroyer schematic and flashed the name, Leviathan.
Immediately to the right of that display, a star chart snapped on and rotated, then closed in on the Talus sector. I had only been sleeping a short time; Talus was not very far from Anoat. I glanced back at the new guy, nodding in his direction as we momentarily locked eyes. He nodded back as I spoke. “I’m Deckard, TD-2187. Welcome aboard.”
“TD-6829, Topolev Mayevkin”, he said as he shoved his bucket back under the jump seat beside his bag. He sat down and fastened his restraints as I had, with a heavy breath and closed his eyes. Desert trooper, I thought, as my eyes slowly drifted shut once more. The boarding ramp raised and the hatch sealed. I was spiraling back into my dreams as the engines roared to life and we streaked away from the Leviathan.
* * *
After comm-linking to the Harbormaster, Falker finally found his ship. It sat dwarfed between two enormous vessels; on one side by a Star Destroyer that was being gutted and refitted, and on the other by a Heavy Freighter, a new arrival that was busily being unloaded. He had been on some small transports before, but this was probably the smallest, and definitely not the shuttle he was expecting, but rather a small cargo transport, already loaded down with caged livestock and farming supplies.
Taka, Ddraig, Danz and 1265 were all focusing their attentions around the Resolute Servant and a squad of intriguing Twi ’Lek dancers from Rhen Var. They stood amongst crates and supplies, playing with their Lekku and smiling as they talked with the eagerly assembled troops.
The ground crew was busy unloading the rest of the ship’s cargo. There were crates and livestock everywhere. Among the deliveries were several caged Ysalimari for delivery to the office of the Emperor, along with hundreds of Ch’hala Trees to be planted in the main chamber of the Grand Corridor at the Imperial Palace.
“Hey guys, I’m TD-1344, Danlin Falker. Is this thing my transport?”
The others laughed and the Twi ‘Leks smiled as Taka spoke up, “Hello 1344, I’m Taka, TK-2953, and yeah, this little thing is our ship. Looks like we get the aromatic section.”
Falker shook his head and closed his eyes.
The pilot walked down from inside, “Is this the guy?”
Taka looked up at him, “Yeah, this is the guy we were waiting on. Let’s get the rest of this gear loaded and get out of here.” He turned back to the dancers, “Sorry ladies, it’s time for us to head out.”
* * *
It was dark and quiet in the cargo hold, save the constant high-pitched whine of the engines. I was unstrapped and watching our slow approach to a small planet with several moons in close orbits. We had navigated around the fringes of a moderately sized asteroid field and now finally we were passing through a thin, vaporous cloud band of cosmic dust. My helmet navigation panel flickered to life, throwing off a bluish glow inside. I turned and glanced over at it in the darkness, sitting on the floor in front of my gear bag.
The blue glow was reflecting off the metal deck plate from under the black-trimmed edges of the bone-white, armored helmet. There was also a faint glow visible through the dark eye lenses creating an eerie, ghostly appearance. I slid out of the gunner’s seat and knelt on the cold deck, lifting it up to see what it had to offer. As I rolled it over and peered inside, the information display screen was populating. Ralltiir was the name of this place. I glanced into the back of the hold. Topolev was still asleep.
I moved back to the gunner’s chair, holding my helmet and looking once again through the port. We followed a path that carried us through bright bands of light, streaming through the heavens from the system’s central star, arriving to filter through the translucent veil of dust surrounding us.
Our approach eventually moved us beyond the reaches of the orange starlight and into the eclipsing shadow thrown by the planet itself, high above the portion of the surface that was covered in the liquid darkness of night. Then, like a stalking predator in the shadows, a Star Destroyer suddenly appeared out of the camouflaging darkness of the endless starfield beyond as we cruised past, heading for the base on Ralltiir.
Faint lights on the planet below glittered, growing brighter as we entered the atmosphere. Immediately the shuttle began to shake and rattle. Our smooth ride was interrupted by the jarring turbulence of air now buffeting against the wide flat wings and the hull of our ship. From the direction of the cockpit I heard a crackling request for security code clearance.
There was a lot of interference, as if someone else was transmitting on top of our military frequencies. Coarse static bursts mixed with garbled words and electronic tones streamed over the ground crew’s transmission. The pilot complied, sending out the ship’s electronic signature. As he did so, an information screen appeared on the other end of the comm line in front of the ground crew member at the base, displaying our ship type and specifications.
Moments later the static disappeared from the comm channel, and we were cleared for landing at the base. The pilot switched on forward-projecting approach lights and adjusted his thermal sensor settings as our ship descended blindly into a thick fog. I could see nothing, just swirling clouds. Then faintly, I saw a few dim points of light, and finally, the barest outlines of several buildings and towers. They were only visible as slightly darker shades of grey against the white mists of the dense fog. We touched down in a small designated landing zone near the southern perimeter of the expansive spacefield.
Topolev was awake now too, and we both unclipped our harnesses as the pilot powered down the reactor.
“We must be staying here for a while”, I said, as the engines fell silent.
He responded, looking around the hold as the wall-mounted, battery-powered lights kicked in, “It certainly looks that way.” He leaned over and picked up his bucket. I grabbed mine as well and stood up.
Topolev stepped into the aisle in front of me and walked the corridor toward the rear ramp and the spacefield outside. The pilot came down from the cockpit, “Hey Deckard, how’s the ride so far?”
I laughed, “Not too bad, Riggs, if you like the smooth, core-system refinement of a snobby commercial-liner pilot.”
I ducked as he threw his gloves at me. I had known Riggs since I was assigned on Anoat. He flew the shuttle that had delivered me and the others to that swampy, mudhole of a planet. It was fitting that he was the one flying me out of it.
He shoved me, bulldozing his way through the narrow space, and pushing past. “Oh, excuse me, I’m so sorry.” he said, jokingly, ducking as I took a mock swing at his head.
Topolev moved out the hatch, stepping onto the ramp. There was a deafening blast and a violent rocking of the shuttle as an expanding fireball washed over us, and we were thrown backwards off our feet to the deck. The lowered portion of the ramp had exploded, shredding and twisting the plank into a mangled ruin. We were under attack! Suddenly we weren’t laughing, we were scrambling for our clipped-in rifles, and pulling our buckets on. My ears were ringing from the blast and my heart was racing, “Topolev, you OK?”.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to need a new chest piece, though”, as he indicated a hand-sized piece of shrapnel from the ramp partially embedded in the Impervium.
Riggs reached up, pulled a DLT-19 from one of the crates and powered it on. Smoke poured into the ship and sirens blared as another, stronger explosion rocked it, throwing us across the hold into the wall and scattering us on the deck. One of the main rear landing gear assemblies had been hit, and the heavy shuttle groaned and listed to one side as the damaged gear folded and collapsed beneath us in a tangle of bent, stressed metal.
The wing-mounted dual repeater cannon on the damaged side spewed a shower of sparks and suddenly opened fire, spitting non-stop, repeating blasts of energy beams horizontally across the landing area, sawing through the tops of the grey tree on the fringe of the clearing beyond.
Adrenaline coursed through each of us as we tried to get an assessment of what was going on. Thick smoke and fog made that even more difficult. I yelled to be heard over explosions and the blaster fire occurring outside. “If we stay in here much longer, somebody’s gonna be pulling spare armor parts off our dead bodies by morning.”
Topolev switched on his thermal imaging and scanned the spacefield outside. “You're right about that! There are no nearby targets though, must be snipers. The firing is coming from beyond the edge of the field. There's a troop transport speeder we can take cover behind just outside and to the right, if we can just get to it. Switch on your thermal imaging.”
A blaster shot from across the field vaporized a hole through the twisted surface of the ramp just in front of Riggs' un-armored leg. He yelled, "Well, we can't stay here any longer, let's go!" The three of us charged down the remnants of the ramp and leaped to the duracrete deck, blasters firing. We ducked below the level of the repeating cannon’s energy blasts, still spraying into the darkness of the trees. Several shots from among the trees crisscrossed, blasting the landing pad in front of us as we ran.
Troops now streamed out of buildings on the far edge of the field, running across the paved surface firing red, blue and green blasts of super focused energy through the fog.
I heard the moisture in the air vaporize as I squeezed off several shots. We dove for cover, throwing our backs against the armored transport, as several waves of troopers joined us, firing on an unseen enemy out there in the mist.
"Who's shooting at us?” yelled Topolev.
One of the base troopers took cover with us behind the transport, blaster rifle raised up beside his head and breathing heavy from his sprint across the field. "They're rebels. They've been under surveillance since we arrived here. We suspected that sympathizers were gathering here with friends on the High Council. Now we know." He fired off several shots around the rear of the transport. "I'm 4120, welcome to Ralltiir."
He stood and ran off the edge of the landing pad into the grass, joining a group of other troopers, his repeating rifle blasting away at anything that moved.
Topolev and I looked over at Riggs. He was armed, but not armored. “Riggs, you need to stay here, you have no armor, no protection”, I said. He nodded and waved us on. I went around the rear, Topolev around the front of the transport, firing as we ran to catch up with the base troops, with Riggs providing covering fire.
We jumped over the corpses of several troopers that had been cut down in the charge as another explosion rocked our shuttle behind us. I glanced back as I ran. She was now lying completely over on her side. When we reached the edge of the trees that lined the clearing, many of the troops were pursuing the fleeing rebels into the dense, foggy forest.
4120 was following a group of about six rebels that had broken off from the main group and had disappeared down an embankment. We broke left, following him through the tall, damp grass down the slope to a dry creek bed. The scurry of footprints in the dirt led away to the left, and we ran to catch up.
We came around a bend in the miniature ravine just as 4120 blasted a gaping hole through the torso of one of the rebels, throwing her to the ground in a lifeless heap. There were several others lying on the ground with similar wounds. The two remaining fugitives fled wildly into the woods trying in vain to escape their deaths, yelling at each other, “Where was he? He was supposed to be on that shuttle!”
We blasted into the darkness at them. Topolev took out one of the rebels, and when his comrade turned to look back for his friend, I took him out too. Then there was a moment of silence. The smell of ozone was thick in the air.
Faint blaster fire could be heard echoing through the woods, and then silence. 4120 set down his rifle and pulled off his bucket, as he turned to examine his injured left hand. It was dangling precariously from the end of his armored forearm gauntlet. I pulled off my bucket.
He cursed in Iridonian and then answered, “I’m fine. A shot just grazed me”, as he grabbed the spinning hand and pulled it off with a quick jerk.
"GRAZED you?" said Topolev. 4120 held it up for us to see closer. Thin metal guides and wires protruded from the charred black “skin” surrounding the wound.
“It’s OK, it’s cybernetic.” He saw the question on our faces. “It’s a long story. Suffice it to say I got a, uh, nasty infection and had to cut off my own hand to keep it from spreading.”
We both slowly nodded and spoke at the same time, “Yeah, OK, Sure.”
With his remaining hand he slapped Topolev on the shoulder, “Come on, let’s head back.”
Smoke rose from the corpses lying in the sandy creek bed as we turned to make our way back to the base. It was growing lighter as we stepped out of the thick grass on to the landing pad. A group of ‘droids were extinguishing the fires on the shuttle.
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 10:19:09 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 2 - Journey Toward Destiny (Part 2 of 3)
Other maintenance ‘droids working on the ship must have disconnected power to the rogue cannon, as it was now silenced. As we drew nearer, we saw Riggs sitting on what remained of a wing, being attended by a medical ‘droid.
“You OK? What happened?” asked Topolev.
The injured pilot looked up, “I’m . . . I’m OK, but won’t be flying anytime real soon. The cannon must have overheated. The ‘droids were telling me the firing mechanism jammed, causing an explosion. I felt something slap me across the back and knock me off me feet. I tried to reach up to the transport to help myself up, but I couldn't raise my arm. When I looked over at it, part of the red-hot gun nozzle was sticking through my shoulder. That’s it there” he said, pointing with his good arm. The medical 'droid raised one of its’ arms, showing us the discolored metal pipe held tight in its pincers. “Luckily, the thing was so hot, it cauterized the wound immediately, otherwise, I’d be dead.”
I knelt down beside him, “Take it easy, Riggs. They’ll fix you up and you’ll be flying again before you know it.”
He nodded as I stood, and the medical 'droid continued its work. Topolev and I stepped past them and climbed over the twisted metal into the hold. The ship now lay on its side, everything blackened from the smoke. We climbed over the bulkhead, which was now the deck. Our gear had been thrown toward the sloping nose. I moved forward and grabbed a bag and a pack, checked them, threw them to Topolev and then grabbed mine.
“MU-40 there’ll take good care of you. Good sedatives, huh?” 4120 was saying to Riggs as we made our way out of the wreckage. “After he looks at you, I’m gonna need a tune-up myself” he said, holding up his severed hand.
The med 'droid's head servos swiveled his optical sensors around to inspect the damage. It spoke as pistons dropped its shoulders to simulate human defeat, “Again, 4120?”
The dirtied base trooper laughed, “Come on guys, I’ll find you a place to stash your gear until we get a new transport. I’m outta here with you when you leave. My transfer came through 2 days ago. I think you guys are my ride.”
The MU (medical unit) and another ‘droid were loading Riggs onto a repulsor sled as we headed toward the base. It was much lighter now, and through the dissipating mist, running along the far side of the base, I saw a river. The waters were quiet and calm, flowing along as if nothing had happened; completely unaffected. “Great”, I thought to myself, “More water. I can’t wait to get outta here."
*
Tiny wisps of white smoke curled up from 4120’s wrist as the med ‘droid carefully removed the cauterized remains of the charred, synthetic 'flesh' with a low powered energy beam. 4120 watched closely as the ‘droid cleaned the wrist stump with a jet of water, until all traces of the cybernetic hand were gone, save the guide rods, ball joint and multiple flexor-cords sticking out from the durasteel cap that covered the end of what was left of his arm.
The ‘droid swiveled to face him, “4120, soak that in this container of bacta while I prepare the new prosthetic.”
The trooper complied as the ‘droid swiveled again to a case on another bench. It released the small clasps on the front of the small, metallic crate and lifted the hinged lid. Inside were three compartments for identical synthetic hands. One of the compartments was empty, most likely for the one that had just been destroyed. The ‘droid gently retrieved one of the remaining two hands and closed the lid of the case, securing the clasps.
It swiveled around to 4120 and brought the hand up before his face, “You only have two left, including this one”.
The trooper tried to keep a straight face and not knock over the bacta.
“I’m not joking, 4120. I won’t be there to fix you from now on. Your record shows that you are transferring out to another group. You will need to watch me carefully as I reconnect these fittings and wrap the synthetic flesh, so you can do it in the future the next time you do this to yourself. And yes, I know there WILL be a next time!”
He smirked again, as the droid put down the hand and raised the soaking stump out of the bacta. A jetted appendage extended from the shaft of the ‘droid’s arm and air was blown over the stump to dry it thoroughly. Once finished, it lifted the hand and positioned the socket over the ball joint on the stump.
A release pin was pulled out slightly, and the socket slipped down over the ball. When it was firmly in place, the pin was released, snapping back into place as a retainer, keeping the socket securely in its seated position. The droid then set to work attaching the flexor-cords to the tiny connectors on the structure of the hand.
4120 was watching closely. He knew all too well that he definitely would be doing this to himself again someday.
I turned away from the transparisteel panel and walked out of the doorway, down a small corridor and rolled into my assigned bunk. Topolev was asleep in the one beside it. I closed my eyes and waited for 4120 to be finished. Riggs was undergoing surgery, and would most likely be fine, but he wouldn’t be taking us on the rest of our flight, that’s for sure . . . and we would need another ship.
My head was pounding. I couldn't stop thinking about the rebels who had attacked us and wondering what their objective had been. They had expected someone else. We must have gotten in the way of something. Our shuttle arrival, with two troopers of no consequence would hardly warrant an attack the likes of what we had just seen.
4120 walked in as I sat pondering the events of our arrival. He was rubbing his wrist, and flexing the new hand. “I just heard that our task force leader, Lord Tion, has arranged for another shuttle. He’s pulling a pilot familiar with some of the destination ports from field duty now. He’ll take us the rest of the way on our flight. Lord Vader will be arriving soon to inspect the Interrogation Camps . . . ."
That was it! The rebels must have been expecting Vader instead of us to have been arriving on the shuttle. We had walked into the middle of an assassination attempt. Sever the head of the Rancor and the body dies. But surely they couldn't have thought the Emperor would have been traveling with Vader.
I realized 4120 had continued talking as I had drifted deeper into my thoughts, drowning him out. I had missed most of what he had said, but he was still talking.
". . . and Tion has just received new intelligence that shows a dignitary will be arriving later today for a meeting with the High Council. The Council was eliminated when we stormed their chambers. I’m sure Tion will want the visitor brought here and detained for search and interrogation.”
The MU-40 'droid moved past 4120 and placed the case of cybernetic appendages on his bunk along with another case of medical supplies and tools. "Take Care, 4120, take care", and it turned and left.
4120 shifted his eyes from the new hand to me, "I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat." I nodded my agreement. It had been a while since I had eaten real food. I roused Topolev from his sleep and we followed 4120 out of the barracks and down a corridor to the mess.
We each grabbed a tray and began selecting food as we spoke. "So how long have you been here?” I asked.
4120 spoke without looking back, "About 45 of the local standard days. We were brought in when it was discovered that members of the High Council were rebel sympathizers and allowing a pocket of the Alliance to assemble here, gathering their forces. Ralltiir is a technology-driven society." He put a hot plate of steak on his tray and licked the thick sauce he had spilled on his finger. "We were given specific instructions to strip their technology from them, and leave their world in ruins with them begging for the mercy of the Empire. Tion was all too eager to comply, down to the very letter of our orders."
We sat at a table facing a large pane of transparisteel overlooking the landing area. I had followed 4120's lead and taken a plate of the meat. It was very good and tasted like a meal I once had on Cicarpous IV, near Mimban. Topolev had a large plate of steamed, multi-colored exotic vegetation. From here I could see that the wreckage from our shuttle had already been cleared from the field. Troops were patrolling the perimeter, watching the woods with their blasters at the ready.
Topolev spoke with a mouth full, "How's the hand?"
"Perfect, see?” said 4120 as he chewed and swallowed a mouthful of steak. As he replied, he flexed the cybernetic fingers in and out twice. On the deck outside, a shuttle similar to our own landed as we continued eating. Several of the ground crew attended to various points along the undercarriage as the front ramp lowered to the ground and a passenger walked down and exited; a passenger in a black helmet, black armor and robes. Lord Vader had arrived on Ralltiir. I continued eating and watched as he was escorted into an armored speeder, being taken to review the interrogation camps.
*
Above the surface of Ralltiir, a consular ship was making her approach when TIE fighter escorts appeared from the far side of the planet and intercepted her. They surrounded the ship as communication was finally achieved with the lead TIE pilot.
"TIE Squadron leader, this is Captain Raymus Antilles of the Tantive IV, acting on behalf of the royal house of Alderaan. We are en route to Grallia Spaceport on a diplomatic mission for a meeting with members of the High Council and are not to be detained."
"Captain, you will not be proceeding to Grallia Spaceport, as it now exists only as ruins, as does the High Council. You will follow us to a newly established Imperial base for search and interrogation. This system is now restricted, immunity or not, by Order of Lord Vader and Lord Tion."
TIE fighters crossed the nose of the diplomatic ship as her course headings were adjusted to follow their lead toward the new Imperial beacon being sent out from the impromptu military spaceport below.
Antilles worried about the cargo they were secretly transporting for the High Council, and the contact they were to meet for location and codename to receive sensitive information uncovered by the ‘Red Hand’. The ship was loaded down with field surgical units, medipaks, medical 'droids and more. If she were to be searched . . .
*
4120 secured his personal items and medical equipment in the large, standard issue gearbag like mine. Topolev was making a few adjustments to his new chest plate when a scout entered the room, "Your new shuttle's outside and ready to go, guys."
Topolev grabbed his bag and bucket as did I, and 4120 made one last sweep of his bunk area before he slung the bag over his shoulder and the three of us made our way down a corridor, past the communications room, and out to the flight deck.
It was almost dark. The local days were a lot shorter than what I was used to. We boarded the shuttle and secured ourselves and our gear as a duty-scarred Corellian corvette prepared to set down on the far side of the deck. Her TIE escorts had left her now, as she lowered herself to a landing.
None of us even noticed her arrival as the rear hatches on our shuttle closed and pressurized. The new pilot lifted off and we climbed once more toward the massive expanse of the stars above.
* * *
Our new pilot, Lt. Tank, hadn’t been very forthcoming with any details of our extended flight plan. About the only thing he had said was that our course was being dictated by Imperial Command on Coruscant as we flew, so there was no hope of using the hyperdrive engines. We had to remain in contact with them. He was very young, a recent recruit that, for whatever reason, hadn’t made the cut as a fighter pilot.
The kid had skills, or he wouldn’t be flying a shuttle, he’d be cooking in the mess. He had plenty of time to grow into a fighter pilot. Piloting this shuttle was earning him good flight time experience, even if that training meant we spent a lot more time in flight than necessary. We had been en route at sub-light speeds for what seemed an eternity now.
Tank came over the comm with an announcement, “We’ve just been directed to make a course change and head to Denon Station. It’s only a small deviation. There’s a freighter on its way there from Coruscant with five troopers that need to connect with this flight.”
4120 rolled his eyes and Topolev shifted uncomfortably in his seat as I rubbed my temples, "This flight just kept getting better and better."
* * *
Denon Station turned out to be quite a beautiful place. It had been constructed around a central core of a medium-sized asteroid. It was situated in a sparse belt of them orbiting near the planet Denon. It wasn’t far from Corellia, or where the Corellian Way and the Hydian Way space lanes intersect.
4120 and I sat with buckets off at a small table overlooking our shuttle and the landing bays below as Topolev waited at a window for our food. Having docked some time ago, we grew impatient as we waited on the freighter from Coruscant. 4120 put down his drink and stared out at the adjacent station and the darkness of the stars beyond.
I put my drink down and asked him, “So, are you going to tell me about cutting off your hand? What really happened?”
He shifted a bit in his seat, and then spoke as he rubbed his left wrist, “It’s been quite a few years now. It started with a trip to visit my Twi’Lek girlfriend’s uncle. He had been called in to help decipher ancient Iridonian artifacts unearthed on a dig expedition near the great pyramids there. I had been brought in to recover a specific piece for the Hutts.”
Topolev walked over with our food. I turned to him, “He’s explaining how he lost his hand. Please go on.” We started to eat as we listened.
“We made it to Iridonia without incident, and located her uncle. I was amazed at the items they had recovered, ancient battle armor, early vibroblades, several jeweled bowls and an odd-looking book of flimsies which pre-dated even holocrons. Her uncle had identified it as an early Sith writing, a book bound in Rancor hide and written in blood.
I realized that this was the piece the Hutts had described to me. This book chronicled the lives and deaths of the ancient Sith masters and contained many of their secrets. It detailed burial rites, funerary chants and other rituals used for laying their slain masters to rest. As we all know today, with the Sith, there are only two, but there were many Sith in the ancient order. Over time their numbers were narrowed by greed and their quest for power to only two, a master and an apprentice.
We were in the main tent of the dig one evening. My girlfriend and I were looking at the artifacts as her uncle read through several passages he was translating. As he carefully opened the yellowed pages, he uncovered a small compartment buried in the center of the book, but as he opened it, he triggered a trap, and was consumed in a blinding white light.
Without thinking, my Twi’Lek rushed to grab the book away and help him. She was caught up in the blaze. I reached out to stop her and it leapt from her into my hand. I let go of her and watched helplessly as they were both incinerated and turned to dust.
I realized it was eating into my hand and moving, so I grabbed one of the ancient vibroblades on a nearby table and severed my hand at the wrist to keep the reaction from spreading any further up my arm. With the blade, I closed the book and the reaction seemed to stop."
As he spoke, I noticed a small cargo ship landing below on the platform not far from our shuttle, but I kept my attention on him as he continued.
“I cinched my wrist up securely, gathered the book into a small container, sealed it and fled. I wasn’t sure what to do. I knew I had to get rid of it, and that it was clearly a power far too dangerous for gangsters like the Hutts to wield. I located an elder in a neighboring settlement. His med ‘droids fixed my hand and he helped me undergo an ancient rite, one that involved reading of ancient texts, burning of incense, and ritualistic body tattooing. At the end of the week-long process, I was rendered a spiritual messenger, free to transport the book without fear of its horrible power. I had paid my respects to the source from which it had come.
The Hutt was furious. He thought I had fled the planet, keeping the book for myself, and put a contract out on my life. I joined the Empire and became a nameless, faceless Stormtrooper, evading capture. I journeyed to Coruscant and was granted a meeting with Emperor Palpatine. It was there that I turned the book over to him. As a reward, I was offered a place in the 501st Legion to serve Lord Vader. What started as a way to hide turned into a love for what I do. I’ve been on the front line ever since, and have gone through a few incarnations of cybernetic upgrades. The one you saw is the most recent and most realistic one so far.”
Topolev finished the last of his food as 4120 finished speaking, “Pretty amazing story. How much of it is B.S.?” and he laughed.
4120 laughed as he drank, “Laugh if you like, that’s the truth.”
I swallowed the last of my drink, “I think the others are here.” pointing to the bay below as I gathered up my trash. Several troopers were emptying out of the cargo ship. We all grabbed our buckets and headed for the lift.
* * *
Far away from the comforts of Denon Station, a small team took up positions around the perimeter security fence of an Imperial Holonet communications tower on Toprawa.
Daegan leaned in close to the woman leading the group and whispered, “Bria, this has to work, or there's no future for the Rebellion. There’s no room for error or failure here.”
She stared back at him, full of resolve, “It’ll work. My source said he was tipped off about the transport of plans to Scarif by the top Imperial scientist on the project. The attack on the convoy near Darknell was only a distraction for the infiltration team that was busy copying the file. Hopefully the information is worth the lives lost to cover them, and the duplication hasn’t been discovered.”
She couldn’t help but wonder if they were the primary mission to smuggle the data out, or perhaps merely a plan B or C, a necessary redundancy put in motion by the scientist to ensure its delivery into the right hands.
As she carefully studied the base of the tower and the Stormtrooper guards, her thoughts drifted back to the time she spent hiding in the dark caverns of Darknell’s moon. In those days that followed the attack, crouched in the shadows, she had fought to keep from imagining teams of Death Troopers sent to find and kill them. After waiting for the convoy to leave the system, they had slipped out of hiding and made their way here.
"Personal delivery is too risky right now.” she continued. “The Holonet communication center here is our best chance of getting these plans to someone that can actually do something with them." Bria glanced skyward, following the lines of the enormous communication tower until it disappeared into the clouds.
Daegan whispered, “You sure they’ll be here? This is a restricted system. No one is going to be allowed to just orbit above the planet.”
She glanced over to him, “They’ll be here. The Tantive IV has diplomatic immunity, although this opens a new era in the fight against the Empire. However quietly, Bail Organa and Alderaan have chosen a side, thankfully it's ours. Our troops on Raltiir created enough of a diversion to get word to a member of the Royal house while they were there to deliver medical supplies to the high council. They were given the coordinates, timing, and their codename. They'll be here.”
Silently, she motioned to those hiding on the far side of the tower, who lobbed several grenades into the woods. Bria gave the signal, and her team rose up from their cover just as the grenades exploded. They unleashed a volley of blaster fire at the startled stormtroopers who fell easily.
Bria and her team raced through the smoke, stepping over the dead and into the turbolift. Only tense, focused breathing could be heard now as they ascended to the transmission control room at the top of the tower. All were risking their lives to regain what had been taken from them, and the whole of the Republic.
The lift came to a stop and as the durasteel doors slid open, Bria fired a single shot through the chest of the lone communications officer as he turned to them. They rushed out of the lift, through the drifting smoke and smell of burnt flesh, spreading their gear out on a console. Only machine sounds cut the silence.
Reaching inside her vest, Bria withdrew a slender metallic box and opened it. Inside was a transparent data card embedded with the technical data for project 'Stardust'. She delicately lifted the card out, loaded it into the transmission data port and keyed in a transmission channel. She turned to Daegan, “Our contact’s codename is Skyhook. Let’s do this.”
He grabbed the comms officer by the collar, pulling him out of his chair to the floor. Sliding into the still-warm seat, he put on the dead man’s headset and keyed in the frequency code. Urgently he pleaded into the headset microphone, "Come in Skyhook, Come in Skyhook!"
Far above them, the Tantive IV took its position, having appeared suddenly after reversion from hyperspace. The communications officer on the bridge responded, “Skyhook here, shields are down, begin transmission!”
Information began streaming from the comm tower below, and was being written to a removable data card.
Suddenly, an alarm sounded on the bridge; their presence and purpose had been detected. A swarm of Imperial TIE fighters converged on the stationary ship firing green energy slashes across their unprotected hull, striking strategic targets.
Captain Antilles immediately ordered the shields raised in response, but severe damage had already been inflicted.
Leia Organa screamed “You can’t raise the shields, we don’t have the full transmission and decryption key yet! This will all be for nothing if we come away empty-handed!”
Bail Organa had to restrain his daughter. As he moved her through the hatch into the hallway, he turned back to Antilles with a worried look, “Get us out of here, whatever you have to do, do it now.”
The ship shuddered and rocked as the hatch closed. Critical life-support and sub-light drive systems were still on-line and functioning, but the reports now coming in showed substantial damage to the hyperdrive engines and electrical grid, which effectively rendered the shield generator and weapons useless.
“I need an immediate hyperspace leap!” Antilles yelled.
“Sir, the hyperdrive has been damaged. Prolonged hyperspace acceleration will blow the reactor!”
Antilles made a split-second decision, “Give me a short, controlled hyperspace leap of no more than one minute. We’ll get word to Admiral Raddus and the fleet that we need help from wherever we end up. Just get us out of here now!”
As the Tantive IV disappeared into the relative safety of hyperspace, far below on the surface, a squad of Stormtroopers raced out of the Toprawan forest toward the base of the tower. The rebels at the top braced for a fight.
* * *
The new troops were unloading their gear as we came walking up. “So you guys are joining us, huh?” said Topolev.
1344 leaned toward him and grabbed his hand, shaking it as he responded, “That’s right. Let me tell you, your shuttle looks great after the flight we just had, shoved in with cargo and livestock.”
Ddraig, Danz, Taka, 1265 and Falker all shook hands with us as we helped them haul their gear into the hold area. Tank brought the engines online and prepared for lift-off as we all strapped in. He lifted us off the deck and set a course away from Denon Station that would take us through Hutt space.
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 10:22:54 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 2 - Journey Toward Destiny (Part 3 of 3)
We had all been talking a bit, exchanging stories of past missions and assignments to break the ice and the monotony of this flight. I closed my eyes, as more thoughts from the past churned through my mind. Vivid images from Jakku and Cicarpous IV overlapped with those of Anoat. I was wondering if my old detachment members had found Moff Rebus yet. Rebus was an eccentric weapons specialist that had been working for the Empire since the Clone Wars.
After his work with Galen Erso on the Death Star Superlaser, he disappeared. Many thought he had suffered the same fate as the battle station’s chief design team on Eadu, but more recently, Intelligence had intercepted information indicating he had constructed a hidden stronghold located deep beneath the sewage systems of Anoat City.
While our primary mission there had been to infiltrate and take control of the planet and its capital city, we were also part of a much smaller group searching for the elusive Rebus. Memories and images washed through my mind of the dark, foul-smelling caverns and sewers. Searching for a way into Anoat City, a way to surprise the inhabitants and quickly overtake them. And thoughts of even darker missions, grisly rescue missions, exploring amidst the dead for survivors inside starships that had crashed into the vast oceans, casualties of the numerous battles above the planet.
The worst were the missions searching for Rebus himself, beneath the sewers, deep in the caves in complete darkness. We worked with infrared bucket visor panels and the swarming lizard-ants from that one mission, all over us; inside our armor. I awoke with a start, realizing I had momentarily drifted off.
The ship rocked as something struck us and slid across the outer hull with a hollow, wrenching scrape. We all unclipped and moved forward for a look. The pilot lifted the nose to avoid more of the floating debris. As he lowered it back on course, we were all amazed at what lay ahead. Volumes were spoken in our silence. Ahead was the swirling final resting place of three dead, imploded stars. We were on the edge of a place each of us had heard of since childhood as a place to avoid.
We were approaching . . . the Maw.
For centuries, folk stories had been told throughout the galaxy, in untold numbers of languages, about lost ships and their crews that were pulled into the powerful, spiraling vortex whose gravitational pull sucked in even light if it dared venture too close. The chain reaction death of three stars in close orbit around each other had created this treacherous navigational nightmare.
The course-plotting panes in all of our helmets simultaneously blipped on as we passed within transmission range for the settlement ahead. Not one of us bothered to look at it, we knew where we were. There was a medium-sized moon, just outside the pull of the gravity well that was quite devoid of life, except for an Imperial base and its' inhabitants.
It had been left in that desolate state after the cataclysmic supernova explosions, subsequent implosions, and the howling solar winds from a thousand generations ago ravaging across its surface as the stars were sucked into the bottomless black pit of the Maw. We, however, were not heading for the dead moon, but rather the smaller frozen asteroid that now lay between us and it.
We were headed for Kessel.
An equal number of haunting stories existed about this place, but for reasons far, far darker. The Kessel moon was the site of an Imperial base that once housed an entire Garrison to oversee the nearby asteroid mining facility and one of the most feared and brutal Imperial prisons in the known galaxy. For all condemned to serve sentences here, a trip to the containment facility at the spice mines of Kessel was a one way affair.
Most every planet had their share of the good, the bad, and the horrific. The inmate population on Kessel was the continually-collected masses of the truly horrific from every corner of the galaxy. Most every known violent, anti-social and deviant behavior was well represented here. Guards were generally rotated around the prison after two standard years to keep the staff sharp and unforgiving.
The asteroid, on which the prison was built, was too small to possess even enough gravity to hold on to anything bit a very thin atmosphere, too lacking to sustain life. Imperial engineers had installed numerous atmospheric generator facilities, which endlessly blasted out streams of breathable air across the surface of the lifeless rock. It slowly slipped away from the surface, venting out into the vastness of the stars like life-support gases streaming from a crippled starship with a breach in its hull.
As a result, the surface air was breathable, barely, but the miner-inmates and their Stormtrooper guards down in the mine shafts had to wear re-breather masks and oxygen cells at all times to keep from passing out. Inmates and guards alike were issued only one mask and one cell per day, to ensure no hording of oxygenation equipment.
Distant starlight broke around the edge of the nearby Garrison moon as we began our approach, skimming the lifeless surface of the asteroid.
We had received an identifier beacon transmission, but as far as I could tell, there had been no communication with anyone at the facility. The cockpit had been quiet. The shuttle flew low over the alkali flats, and climbed abruptly to avoid a low mountain range. It was then that we saw the only surface evidence of inhabitants; an empty landing deck, starkly jutting out from the steep walls of the mountains ahead.
Lt. Tank maneuvered us around to line up with the deck below as the lower wings folded up and landing gear lowered. Slowly, we descended through the magnetic Atmospheric Retention Shield to the landing pad beneath on the dark side of Kessel. As the engines wound down, we prepared to disembark. We all had buckets in hand as the airlock seals at the rear hatch de-pressurized. Taka said he was going to stay behind and work on his rifle.
The access ramp lowered as Topolev turned to me, joking, "You can go down the ramp first this time!" and he rapped on his new chest armor plate.
Our pilot left the cockpit and followed us down to the outside deck. The silence was absolutely deafening. We all looked around for other troopers, or some sign of life, but there was none. I looked up the side of the mountain to the stars beyond, then back to our shuttle and past it to the expansive Alkali flats we had crossed on our approach. Further in the distance, like a waiting trap, lay the swirling Maw with the Garrison moon orbiting somewhere in between.
After glancing around, we crossed the deck heading for the shield doors that led inside the facility. No one seemed to know or care that we were there. Danz spoke up, “They probably don’t get too many visitors. I guess few, if any people voluntarily come to Kessel.”
“Yeah”, said Ddraig as he looked around. We had almost made it to the doors when another small craft gently pushed through the magnetic membrane of the shield above us and set down beside our ship. It was a small craft, a 'droid-piloted Payload Retrieval ship with spider-like arms encircling its hull. They were designed for recovering any cargo floating about after a ship was damaged or destroyed. As we watched it touch down, the shield doors behind us opened and several troopers walked through followed by a slower, portly Rybet who ordered them to unload the 'droid ship's cargo. They moved a floating repulsor sled alongside the small craft and opened several hatches, exposing the recovered items inside.
The Rybet turned, looking us over. In a slimy, guttural voice he demanded, "Who are you?" his nostrils flaring.
Lt. Tank pushed past us, taking the Rybet by the arm and turning him away from us, speaking quietly, "I have been directed here by Imperial Command on Coruscant to pick up two troopers for reassignment. Who are you?"
"I am Moruth Doole, prisoner trustee and the most powerful person in this system beside the Warden, Commander Kluskine." There was a crash as a small crate fell to the deck. Doole whipped his head around, "Be careful with that, you know it can't be exposed to the light or it’s useless to me!"
He slowly turned back to our pilot, "The only thing I like better than making a killing by selling Spice, is making another killing by selling it again a second time! Ha ha ha! One of the last starships out dumped her shipment when one of my ships in the blockade threatened to board her." His voice trailed off, and he stared off into the darkness of the empty hallway as if he were speaking only to himself now, "I know a special customer who will not be so very happy with Captain Solo after this."
The small band of duty-worn troopers pushed the full sled away from the small ship toward the open shield doors.
Our pilot handed Doole a small, thin data card, "Here are the reassignment orders."
"Come inside", said Doole, "Everyone, come inside while I locate these men." The ground shook hard beneath our feet.
4120 looked around, "What the . . . "
Doole spoke up quickly, “Nothing to worry about. Just tremors from the deep core blasting. We're directly above the prison and mining operations. They're several levels down, through a number of security checkpoints. I'll alert Commander Kluskine and let him know you're here. Ever been to Kessel, boys?"
We all shook our heads no as we followed him further along the corridor.
“This is the way we bring in new arrivals. You'll get to see firsthand what it's like so you can tell others how you survived a stop at the Spice Mines of Kessel", and he waddled off through the doors.
We followed him into the complex. The stony walls which had been smooth near the shield doors were now uneven and jagged and blood-stained. As I walked, I noticed fingernails and claws stuck in the discolored rocks from the hands of those who had been dragged in, screaming and fighting as their last glimpse of the freedom outside slipped away.
"The evil and darkness that lives in the hearts of the inmates here have robbed this place of any warmth, any soul. It gets to you after a while", he chuckled, "I should know. I worked the darkness of the deepest mineshafts for over twenty years."
I suddenly felt that if these dark, stone corridors could speak, they would scream in horror as they told the tales of countless numbers that had passed this way to their fate, and the few, if any that ever came out alive.
Doole went ahead of us, stepping out onto a metal catwalk that crossed over a pool of an undetermined green liquid. Two trooper guards at the doors on the other side stepped out, and glancing our way to see who was coming with him.
We all advanced around the room and came to the doors on the far side. Doole stepped up to the security plate and pressed his right hand to it at the same moment he entered a code number with his free hand. The doors opened, and we all stepped through, leaving the guards behind as the doors slid shut.
No experience in any of our lives could have prepared us for what lay in the darkness beyond the second set of blast doors. The roar of thousands of voices flooded out as the doors parted. We stepped through onto another gridded, metal gantry suspended from the stony ceiling of the cavern by thick cables. It swayed slightly from our movement as we crossed the open prisoner’s common area far below. We heard screams and yelling, and as I looked down I could make out an undulating sea of inmates whose actions had brought them to this hellhole that was Kessel.
We walked through another set of blast doors and followed a small, dim corridor that opened onto an enormous mezzanine, half encircling an expansive labor pit below. I stepped up to the tranparisteel and looked out into the surface mining operations facility. 'Droid workers were busy removing rock in the never-ending quest to find yet more Spice.
Doole stepped forward, "And this is only the very top of the operation. The tunnels where the Glitterstim is mined are worked by inmates in complete darkness, far, far below us. It has somewhat of a depressing effect on them, and tends to add a bit of claustrophobia and paranoia to their already abysmal working conditions, but it must be completely dark. The light activates the Spice, so it has to be carefully mined and wrapped in sheathing before it’s brought to the surface for shipment. Sit here a moment while I identify the troopers you're looking for. I won't be long."
He turned and disappeared down a narrow hallway. The pristine landing deck outside was definitely no indicator as to what the inside would look like. The area we were in now was damp and musty with the stale smell of an aging, heavily-worn government facility. The only signs of current technology were found in the security systems and atmospheric shielding. The 'droid loaders working in the pit were hopelessly outdated more rust than metal. There were signs of heavy, repetitive use, with only enough repair or upgrade to keep them running.
Topolev walked to the transparisteel panel beside me and looked down in to the pit, "I've heard stories about this place my whole life. I never thought I would be here."
"Yeah. Just be glad you're on this side of the security doors." I said, tapping the transparent pane as the others walked up beside us.
Doole waddled back into the room, "C'mon. Follow me. One of the troopers you're looking for is a drilling foreman on a platform several levels below us."
We all turned and followed him into a turbolift. He handed each of us an oxygen mask and gas cylinder. "The air is a little thin as you go down further. It might be uncomfortable for you, so use these to help." We all pulled on the masks and dialed the cylinders on as we entered the lift.
Doole unlocked the lower level with a security code and the doors closed. The floor of the lift vibrated and shook as we passed silently beneath Kessel's stony exterior skin.
When it stopped, the doors parted, opening out into a noisy, dimly lit area with metal gridded floor plates dropped unevenly over raw stone. We all stepped out, and Doole led the way down the tall, open hallway between huge machines toward the increasingly loud whirring sound that filled the cavern. He deactivated a yellow energy shield ahead, allowing us all to pass as we moved further toward the sound.
As the shield re-activated behind us, I noticed there was now a fine mist hanging in the air and as we came to the end of the hallway, water and bright light showered from above, splashing away from the enormous spinning drill shaft that ran from floor to ceiling. The water was keep it cool as it burrowed deep into the dark heart of Kessel. Doole tapped the foreman on the shoulder, who turned around to face the group assembled behind him.
Seeing them, he reached over to a large control arm on the giant machine beside him and pulled it down, cutting power to the main drilling system. The raining water stopped falling and the spinning shaft slowly wound to a halt as did the loud whirring.
The masked foreman turned to face us, drawing back his synthetic, waterproof hood and pulled the re-breather mask away from his face. He eyed us all warily. "Doole, what can I do for you?"
“You’ve been reassigned. You and 0600, you’re both outta here”, said the Rybet.
The man looked irritated, beaten. “I’m not in the mood for your jokes, Doole. I don’t need your sick psychological games.”
Lt. Tank stepped forward and activated his holocron, showing the orders. "TD-1009, these troopers and I are here to pick you and TD-0600 up. You're being released, reassigned. The orders come directly from Imperial Center on Coruscant.”
1009 shot a glance over to Doole, through the holographic image. The Rybet laughed, “I bet you guys never thought you'd see anything but the belly of this stone beast for the rest of your lives, huh?"
“This is for real?” asked 1009, water dripping from his cloak and hood.
Doole snorted, “Do you really think I would waste my time dragging troopers down here and faking a holo just to play a trick on you? I have spice to sell and better things to do.”
Our pilot nodded in agreement as he snapped off the holocron. 1009 exhaled and closed his eyes a moment, as if an enormous weight had been removed from him, like a tired beast of burden at the end of a long, arduous journey.
He unclasped the front of his wet gear and the hooded, waterproof cloak fell away to the ground revealing his heavily worn armor beneath. He stepped over to a small shelf beside the drilling control panel and grabbed his helmet. Turning back to Doole, he looked the Rybet squarely in the eyes, "Let's go. I've been here long enough."
*
Stone flew in every direction, thrown high into the light streaming down from the opening overhead, and the ground shook as explosives were detonated on the floor of the pit, opening the entrance to a new mineshaft.
TD0600 maneuvered a large mechanical cutter into the opening even before the debris stopped falling, and was chewing away at the stone wall in front of him when Doole, 1009, and our group entered the freshly blasted opening behind him. We moved inside and followed the burrowed path for a few meters.
Our shadows fell across the rotating blades of the massive machine, blocking out the light filtering in from the surface. 0600 noticed the shadow and turned to see us coming. He caught sight of Doole in the lead, and switched off the cutter. It ground to a halt as he grabbed his T-21 and turned back to face us, unsure as to why the Rybet was confronting him down here in the tunnels with trooper escort.
TD1009 stepped forward and pulled off his bucket, “I’s OK. We’ve been reassigned! We’re getting out of here.”
0600 pulled his bucket off, “What?”
“We’re getting out of here. They haven’t given me the destination, but the orders came from Imperial Center on Coruscant, I saw the holo myself.” 1009 slapped a hand down on 0600’s shoulder, smiling wide, “We’re leaving on a shuttle with these blokes as soon as we assemble our gear. Say your goodbyes to this awful, awful place.”
0600 had much the same reaction as 1009 had. His face relaxed, and you could almost feel the weight lifting from his shoulders as he smelled the faintest hints of his freedom. He and 1009 walked ahead of us, out of the mineshaft and past one of the tall, groaning atmosphere generator towers and headed for the lift.
*
Neither Rogue nor 0600 had any personal belongings to speak of. They had gathered what little gear they had collected over the years, tossed it in their bags and now were waiting on the landing platform with the rest of us for Doole to return with their approved transfer orders.
We had packed their gear and were talking when the Warden’s admin ‘droid came through the sliding blast doors and over to Lt. Tank. “Inmate Trustee Doole”, the ‘droid incorrectly addressed him as it continued to malfunction, sparking with white smoke streaming out of it’s logic unit, “Commander Kluskine has 'officially' approved the transfer orders for 1009 and 0600, but also feels they know too much about his personal spice operations to be let go. You are to detain them until troops arrive, or inform the blockade to destroy their ship as they depart Kessel.”
Tank swiftly drew his sidearm and destroyed the malfunctioning ‘droid in a shower of sparks and yelled, “LOAD UP. We’re already on the way out!” as he raced into the shuttle.
The rest of us ran in after him, strapping in as Topolev quick-sealed the hatch. Rogue and 0600 threw themselves into two empty seats and were buckling their harnesses as Tank powered on the engines. “Rogue?” said Taka, clipping his rifle into the rack, “is that you?”
Tank sharply pulled back on the controls and the ship shot up off the deck, passing through the magnetic shield as Doole and his troops poured through the blast doors onto the duracrete landing pad.
“Taka?!” said Rogue as he clicked his last harness in place.
0600 leaned over and grabbed Taka’s arm, “Been a long time. Here we go again. Another hasty exit.”
Doole’s troops raised their blasters and fired on us, but we had already pushed through the shield membrane. Their blasts ricocheted wildly back at them.
“CEASE FIRE!” yelled Doole, “The blockade will have to take care of them now.”
Tank was calculating coordinates for a short hyperspace. “This has to work, or they’ll follow us.” An aging Imperial Cruiser moved in behind our shuttle, her guns training on us. She fired, and Tank rolled us hard to the left, as the blasts burned silently past. The cruiser then fired missiles at us, but he reflexively accelerated to stay ahead of them until the hyperdrive ‘nav computer sounded a tone, locking in the data for a secure jump.
Tank dumped several concussion bombs behind us to act as countermeasures. The missiles mistakenly destroyed them in a blinding flash just as Tank activated the hyperdrive jump and our shuttle slipped away into hyperspace as a giant fireball dissipated, covering our escape.
The Cruiser’s gunner scanned the area and made his report, “Target destroyed. Advise Commander Kluskine that the ship and her crew has been eliminated.”
*
The ship shuddered and shook as we abruptly reverted from hyperspace after a short cruise at light speed. The streaking brilliance of the starlines outside the ship slowed to stationary points of light. Tank checked his ‘nav computer. We had passed through the heart of Hutt Space and were now near Lannick.
He made a slight course change which would take us past Moonus Mandel and Leritor, skirting the Outer Rim and the wild space of the unknown regions beyond. We kept this heading for several days’ time, passing near Bothan space and approaching the Arkanis sector at the outer leg of the Corellian Run.
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 11:05:29 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 3 - Arrival
In another system, far from our cruising shuttle, a small covert task force, operating under the call sign ‘Rogue One’, dug in to offensive positions scattered around the perimeter of the Imperial Citadel Tower on Scarif.
Baze Malbus pushed himself as far into the recesses of the bunker doorway as he could to avoid the stabbing blaster bolts crashing all around, and keyed his ear comm to raise Jyn Erso. He watched Chirrut Imwe making his way through explosions and a barrage of blaster fire from Death Troopers advancing on their position. Chirrut walked blindly, straight through the chaos toward the main uplink control panel whispering to himself, “I am one with The Force, and The Force is with me. I am one with The Force, and the Force is with me”.
Baze spoke into the comm. “Jyn, you and Cassian have to make it to the top. Transmit the plans out of here. As soon as the switch is thrown, Bodie will alert the fleet to open the shield for you. This must work, or there's no future for the Rebellion. There’s no room for failure here.”
Chirrut bumped into the control panel and defiantly engaged the master switch. Mere moments later, an explosion threw him back several yards to the ground. Baze charged out into the barrage, blasting his way to Chirrut’s side as Jyn’s voice came back through his earpiece. “K2 is gone and Cassian’s down. I’m climbing up the tower from the vault now. It’ll work. It has to. We’ve come too far and lost too many already for it not to.”
“The switch has been thrown, but Chirrut’s down. Goodbye little sister.”
*
Across the complex, Jyn felt the weight of the ‘Stardust’ plans dangling from her belt as surely as she felt the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders. She had spent various periods of her life under cover of the aliases Kestrel Dawn, Tanith Pontha, Bria Tharen, and Lianna Hallick, but it was Jyn Erso who now looked up at the climb ahead.
Chirrut’s selfless act would permit pilot Bodhi Rook to transmit a hasty message to the rebels in orbit above, advising of the need to take out the shield gate, allowing her transmission of the plans. The information in them would destroy the Death Star, crippling the Empire and allowing a rebuilding of their once-noble Republic. All she had to do was get to the top.
Every member of ‘Rogue One’ was risking their life to regain what had been taken away from them, and the whole of the Republic. Each one of them sensed the importance of this mission. They could feel that change was near, that a new hope was coming, and that their actions would be told in stories for generations to come as the turning of the tide against the Empire.
Their only chance of getting these plans into rebel hands that can actually do something with them to turn the tide of the fight, is to live and make it to the top.
* * *
Our flight had been a long one, with many stops to drop off supplies, change ships, and pick up a trooper here and there. One by one each had settled in, dropped their gear in a pile, pulled off their buckets and strapped in for the flight. Each with armor that had had been in service to the Empire for some time. We all knew the drill: take a seat, get as comfortable as you could, rest your body, and rest your mind for as long as you could.
The sub-light engines’ gently whined, and the slight jostling of the solar winds rocking us back and forth in the dim light of the cargo hold was the perfect catalyst for drifting in and out of sleep. Troopers learned early on in their training that when you had the chance, you grabbed it, not knowing when you might see it uninterrupted again for a long time.
The troopers we had picked up on Kessel apparently knew Taka from a past assignment, and although their initial greetings had been friendly, there had been a fair amount of tension since on the flight. From an outsider’s perspective, the situation appeared to be awkward for all three. They had spent a short time talking in the rear of the ship and then drifted off to sleep like the rest of us.
My chest armor was pressed tight against my webbed harness as I leaned forward into it, my head hung heavily forward. I was drifting in and out of consciousness when through the murkiness I heard equipment crates creaking and rattling, and then, voices talking about an incident with a suspected rebel craft. My eyes opened slightly. I was staring at my feet on the metal deck plate. I lifted my head a bit and saw everyone else hanging similarly. Lt. Tank was speaking to someone on the intercom, asking if it was safe to proceed on our current course.
The voice on the comm cracked back, "This is the Star Destroyer Devastator. We have tracked a vessel receiving beamed communications from a rebel source in a restricted system. The Corellian Corvette attempted to flee, disappearing into a hyperspace jump. What the captain failed to realize was that we had an embedded spy onboard who transmitted the jump coordinates back to us. We surprised them by following to their new position, and gave chase, firing on the small vessel as it again tried to run and jump away. We easily overtook it once the main solar fin had been destroyed and the sub-light engine reactor damaged. We’ve just pulled it in with our tractor beam and are attaching moorings now. As for you, your current course plot is clear.”
Tank replied, “Devastator, I am hauling troops for deployment and have need of supplies. Our last stop did not have the equipment they will need to activate their new outpost. Request permission to dock and take on what we need.”
The comm crackled in silence a moment, then the Devastator replied: “Sorry for the delay, I have some rookies in here watching the boarding party on our monitors as a training exercise. Permission granted to dock. Proceed with caution. The Corellian ship is in our bay now. Troops are boarding it as we speak and we are taking fire from the occupants. Follow protocol, and maneuver into sub-bay 3.”
I was fully awake now. I raised my head and looked around. Everyone else was still asleep. I leaned forward and to the side, straining my neck to look out the gunner’s viewport and saw the brilliant tan curvature of a planet beneath us, and the Devastator just ahead.
As we drew closer, Lt. Tank slowed the drive system and engaged the landing gear. A rumbling, mechanical vibration rattled the long row of jump seats as the lower wings of the shuttle gracefully folded into their upward-reaching position for landing. The other troops stirred and lifted their heads, and the vast sea of stars disappeared from the gunner’s port as we flew under the enormous Destroyer.
I saw the perimeter of the yawning hangar bay, and we smoothly began to ascend inside when I saw it; a really beautiful Corellian ship under high-tension energy restraints. A retractable boarding tunnel had been positioned under the bay doors in its belly.
The Devastator’s troops had most likely used heavy-duty vibrocutters to cut their way inside to the bay, and would then have blown the inner door for entry. As I watched, I saw several bright explosive flashes from the side of the ship, as four escape pods were jettisoned in a shower of tiny metallic fragments from the midsection. Our shuttle shook violently, as the hurtling pods narrowly missed us.
In some cases, wiring damage sustained from interior firefights caused the escape pods to randomly eject when a vessel was boarded. I watched as the destroyer’s guns locked on to the falling pods. Two were destroyed almost immediately. The other two were allowed to fall away toward the planet below.
The gunners had most likely scanned them and found no lifeforms onboard. I settled back in my seat as our craft slid silently up and into the third recessed sub-bay on the back wall of the main hangar. Waking up slowly was a luxury I drank in whenever the opportunity presented itself. Usually I was awakened by an explosion, sudden blaster fire or screaming proximity alarms.
I felt the landing gear gently bump the deck, then give and settle under the weight of our ship. There was some chatter in the back. The Kessel troops were talking with Topolev and Danz about their training on Carida. My time at the Imperial Training Facility on Carida seemed like an eternity ago; another place, another time; another me. As our shuttle settled to the deck, the rear hatch airlock seals released and our boarding ramp slowly lowering to the bay floor outside. The pilot climbed down from the cockpit, past us without a word, and down into the bay.
4120, Ddraig, Falker, and several of the others were already out of their harnesses and following him down into the Destroyer, stretching. I looked down and released the clasped five-point buckle at the center of my chest and stood up. We were en route to our post, so we were not required to wear our helmets. Leaving mine behind, I sauntered down the ramp into the hangar. Steam belched from release valves near the extended gear. As I stepped off the ramp, I adjusted my neckseal and drew in a lungful of air. It was heavy with the smell and faint taste of deodorizers and disinfectants from the onboard atmospheric scrubbers. The air in these huge Destroyers was rarely changed out, it was simply purified and recycled.
Our pilot was in a small room behind a plate of transparisteel talking to a uniformed flight crew technician, most likely the voice on the comm. Several troopers stood behind them watching some action on a large display. It was being broadcast from inside the captured Corvette from a tiny camera in one of the Troopers’ buckets.
The turbolift doors opened, and a black-uniformed officer had a silver protocol 'droid by the arm, briskly escorting it toward the security blast doors on the opposite side of the hangar bay. He was de-briefing the 'droid as they walked, and I could hear a bit of what they were saying as they passed me. "Yes, that’s right, and the special programming you were given worked perfectly, U-3PO. You will no longer be serving aboard the Tantive IV. You will have a memory flush and be reassigned to . . ." and they disappeared into the corridor on the far side, blast doors closing behind them.
4120, the crew from Denon Station, and the Kessel guys were looking at the Sentinel ship beside us. Topolev was telling them some of its specs, as he had been deployed on one during the tail-end of the conflict on Kashyyyk.
I walked over and placed my hand on the transparisteel panel, and leaned in close, blocking the reflected glare of the bay, trying to get a better look at the live helmet feed from inside the captured ship.
I could hear nothing, but the screen showed a handful of troopers walking down a dimly lit gantry. Suddenly a figure in white stepped out from behind part of the hyperdrive engine and fired a point-blank shot at the camera.
The screen went blank with static, as another camera snapped on, from a helmet further back in the group. The fallen trooper was at the bottom of the frame, his head smoking. A young girl was darting away as a series of expanding, blue stun rings was flung out from another trooper's lowered blaster, hurtling toward her.
The first ring tapped her on the back and knocked her to the deck, unconscious, as the other rings washed over her.
Foolish girl. It was useless to resist.
Shaking my head, and backing away from the window, I turned and walked to the edge of the sub-bay, peering into the cavernous main bay below. The planet I had seen on our approach lay far beneath us; a bright, massive planet slipping by against the darkness of the stars beyond. Far above all of this, in the Devastator’s bay, the captured Corvette’s back was scored and streaked; sparking flames and smoke rose from where the solar fin must have been.
Suddenly, another of the ship's escape pods, from the stern cluster, ejected in a flash of light and a spewing of shrapnel. I watched again as the destroyer’s guns locked on the falling pod, preparing to destroy it, and then, nothing. The blast never came. The tiny pod tumbled and rolled toward the massive planet beneath us.
The Corellians certainly did know how to make a fine ship. It was a very bold design. Her lines were sleek, with a broad stroke of red down the sides and a large cluster of powerful engines in the rear. On her side, just behind the command deck, was a crest of some kind. I reached for the macrobinoculars on my belt. I squinted and tried in vain to make it out. The blue electro-image flickered to life with a buzz as I raised the macros to my eyes. As I adjusted the zoom, the lenses rotated, reaching out across the hangar, until the image was clear; the royal house of Alderaan. Lowering the macros, I thought to myself, “Could that be right?” I had no idea where we were, but I knew it wasn’t anywhere near Alderaan.
I snapped the macros off, reattaching them to my belt and glancing back to the shuttle turning to walk back to the monitors to watch more of the boarding party. A protocol droid stepped in front of me offering a drink. I took it, and watched the ‘mech hand a drink to Falker and then walk off in search of the others in my group. It was one of the passions of my youth, droid mechanics and maintenance, but I swear if this one had not spoken I would have run right into it. Droids always seemed of no consequence, blending into the background like a food processor or weather-sensing unit, until they were malfunctioning. That’s usually when I got involved if there were no maintenance techs around. I rubbed my eyes with my gloved hand and took a sip of the cool drink as I walked back toward the comm station.
Several ‘droid load-lifters adjusted the settings on a repulsor-lift sled. In my peripheral vision I saw it rise about 3 feet off the ground, floating with our bundled supplies on top. With a firm push from their servo-mechanical arms, the supplies slid silently up the ramp of the shuttle into the cargo hold, with the ‘droids walking behind. I took a deeper swallow of my drink as I walked, focusing more on the troops in the comm station, and the training feed they were watching.
The monitor revealed that Lord Vader was now aboard the Corellian ship. He was in the main corridor questioning the captured girl in white.
Princess Leia Organa, member of the Royal house of Alderaan, and an Imperial Senator now stood before him in the hallway. Although I was a trooper in groups that had been deployed in many remote regions, most of us had heard of the young, beautiful princess from Alderaan. In a sea of crusty old Senators, she definitely stood out.
Vader was ruthless and relentless in his pursuit when he wanted something, and he believed she was hiding something from him. I found it hard to believe that this young, powerful Senator was the recipient and custodian of stolen Imperial documents or plans beamed onboard by rebel spies, but she seemed to be holding her own as the dark Lord questioned her.
A dozen or so troopers filed into the bay from within the bowels of this massive destroyer and fell into formation just behind the Sentinel.
Several of the others in my party were sitting on the edge of the cargo ramp talking to one of the troopers from the Devastator that had filed out with the others and walked over to our ship. He had a bag full of gear. It would appear we were gaining another new passenger. His armor gleamed in the bright lights of this sub-bay, a sharp contrast to the other troopers whose armor had not seen clean in a very long time.
The doors to the turbolift opened, and a well-worn, veteran Sandtrooper carrying a heavy rifle walked out with a gearbag slung over one shoulder. He stopped a deck hand and they spoke for a moment. The deck hand looked around to the drop ship and then over to our shuttle and pointed toward us. Nodding, the trooper turned and began walking our way. The load-lifter ‘droids marched out of the shuttle after securing our supplies inside.
Tank had pulled Rogue aside and was speaking privately with him. He handed the invoice for our new supplies to him, then turned and crossed the bay toward us, “OK, everybody on board, we’re getting out of here.” He briskly walked past us and up the ramp. The clean trooper eagerly gathered his gear and followed him into the ship.
Rookie.
We all reluctantly complied, slowly making our way back inside the shuttle. As the Sandtrooper from the lift walked past me I said hello, “Hey, I’m Deckard, TD-2187. This is 4120.”
He shook our hands, “I’m Ardan Drone, TD-0582, but call me Blade.”
As he spoke, he looked past us and up to a gantry that ran high above near the hanger ceiling. I looked up to see what he was staring at. A dark figure stood there, raised one hand then turned and walked away. Blade turned and walked up the ramp shaking his head.
I wondered what his story was. Maybe I would find out, maybe not. I took a last look back at the monitor. The young princess was being escorted off of the Corvette by a detachment of troopers. Lord Vader would most likely have a false distress signal sent out from the ship, as if the ship was in some sort of trouble.
It would make it all the more convincing when he informed the Senate that everyone on board was killed. The beautiful princess would most likely never see the light of day again, and everyone would think she had met her untimely end in a tragic accident.
I found it funny how fate had a way of bringing people to their destiny. Turning away, I stepped onto the ramp as it began to lift into the stowed position. I walked its’ length and found my way through the other troopers back to my metal jump seat.
*
Somewhere, high above the surface of the planet beneath the Devastator, high above this unimportant desert planet, this . . . Tatooine, a tiny, Corellian-made escape pod streaked across the dark skies heading for a giant expanse of emptiness known as the Dune Sea.
As impact drew near, the tumbling, empty pod suddenly fired its' steering and braking thrusters . . .
*
The new guys were just settling in and the engines were coming up as I sat and clasped the harness across my chest. It was just another glorious day in service to the Empire. The clean trooper shouted out to the group over the engine noise, “I’m Etz, Engedi Etz, TK-1255.”
Everyone nodded in his direction as we were all jostled back and forth as the ship lifted from the deck and turned to exit sub-bay 3. We glided over the edge and down into the main bay. We slide past the front of the sleek Corvette, and slipped through the magnetic airlock membrane, exiting the hangar bay.
Then suddenly we dove hard and steep, thrusting away from the Destroyer and falling like a stone toward the surface of the expansive, tan planet beneath us. "Damn it Tank!"
He just laughed back from the cockpit. He had a long way to go to approach Riggs' flying skills, but he was good, and having a bit of fun at the expense of our stomachs!
Shuttle pilots were almost always frustrated TIE pilot wannabes or fighter school rejects and loved to perform twisting dives on planetary approach. I wished now that I hadn’t had the drink, as I felt it rising in my throat. He rolled the shuttle over several times. We covered our heads as our gearbags and Impervium helmets tumbled through the air like missiles. Thankfully, our rifles were clipped in.
Just as the rolling stopped, proximity claxons blared through the ship as the ground rose up to meet us far too fast. We blasted into one of the deep canyons etched on the planet’s surface, pulling up and leveling off at the last possible instant, screaming along at full speed.
The ship was rattling wildly, and I leaned forward to look out the gunner’s port again, my heart beating wildly, adrenaline coursing through me. Straining against the harness, I saw the walls of the canyon flying by on both sides.
4120 pointed out the port and yelled, “ROCK!”
A huge rock formation loomed in the center of the canyon, and we were coming up on it fast . . . too fast!
It was tall, with a slotted opening in the center, far too small for our speeding craft to pass through, and definitely too wide to pass on either side! At the last possible moment, the pilot broke hard right down a side canyon just before our headlong impact. He followed it for some time before he pulled up above the canyon rim. Crosswinds shook us roughly as we rose beyond the protective stone walls into a sandstorm that was raging on the shifting dunes.
Then his voice blared over the bulkhead-mounted speakers, “This is Lieutenant Tank, and that, gentlemen, is known to the locals as the Stone Needle. Too bad we’re a little too big to try threading it today. I’ve seen it done, but never tried it myself.”
The roar in the cargo bay from the waves of howling sand blasting the hull was deafening. As we ascended, and finally cleared the edge of the storm, the roaring sound subsided and we could now see a small city in the distance, with ships coming and going.
As our approach brought us nearer, we saw many cluttered streets, domed buildings, smoke, and then the spaceport with row after row of tiny underground docking bay pits spreading out in a semi-circular fan.
We slowly flew over several open bay pits as one was sought out for us.
Once the bay assignment was confirmed by the spaceport authority, Lt. Tank lowered the landing gear and folded the wings upward once again, giving us and our equipment a last shake and rattle as the powerful wing mechanisms lumbered beneath our seats.
He yelled down to us from the cockpit as the ship descended into our assigned bay, “This is the end of the line everybody . . . Mos Eisley Spaceport, Tatooine.” The ship gently touched down, “Everybody up and out. I have your orders.”
We exchanged glances, all realizing at once that those we thought were casual, passing acquaintances with troops we had swapped stories with, were going to become the core members of a new unit. None of us had any idea we were all being assigned to the same destination until this moment.
I looked around at the other troopers that had been brought on since Anoat: Topolev, 4120, Danz, Ddraig, 1265, Falker, Taka, Rogue, 0600, Blade and the other new guy, Etz. We were being thrown together on the backside of nowhere on the outer fringes of the Outer Rim territory. I shook my head.
We must have all done something really terrible in a previous life.
As the boarding ramp lowered, a blast of hot, dry air washed over us, and bright sunlight streamed in. Tank handed Rogue a data card containing our orders, and then disappeared down the ramp, pulling off his gloves. "There are environmental packs here for anyone that doesn't have one”, gesturing to one of the large crates. “I'm going to get a drink."
We grabbed our helmets and gear, and made our way down the ramp. Some of the troops stopped to grab a pack as we disembarked. Stepping off the metallic plank onto the stone floor of the small bay here was quite a contrast to the gleaming Imperial bay we had been in just minutes before so far above.
The walls were worn and dirty. We all stopped briefly, glancing around and then up. Sand had blown in from the opening overhead and drifted across the floor, collecting in small dunes around the grungy, worn out fueling lines in the corner. No magnetic shields here.
As I looked around, I realized he wasn’t kidding when he said this was the end of the line.
Many of us had worked in these conditions before, but the new guys, Taka and Etz, appeared to have come from starship posts. The engines were winding down into silence now, and I could feel my environmental body glove begin to cool slightly in waves across my skin as it compensated, adjusting to the heat. I shouldered my pack as Rogue activated the holo message embedded in the card and the others gathered around to see what was in store for us.
A small bluish-purple hologram of an officer sprang forth in the palm of his hand and began relaying the terms of the assignment. The holographic officer explained that we were to establish a new unit, the 104th Moisture Farm Patrol, to protect and manage the local farmers of the region, moisture farmers.
“Tatooine is a desert as far as the eye can see, barren and unforgiving. Water is a rare and valuable resource here. Among the local inhabitants are the moisture farmers. These farmers use evaporative moisture condensers or ‘vaporators to pull precious drinking water from the air, as natural precipitation does not occur. The moisture farms are large and widespread, skirting the established towns. There are small pockets of indigenous creatures here and there, scavengers and desert nomads for the most part. In addition to the local residents and shop owners, the small, crowded cities are generally populated by lowlife spacers; smugglers, gamblers and bounty hunters who have a great desire not to be noticed or found.”
As I looked around at the stained stone walls, I could not think of a better place for that than where I was now standing.
“TD-1009 has been appointed the Commanding Officer, with TD-4120 as his second in command. You are to establish your unit and enforce Imperial law. While this planet is in the furthest reaches of the Outer Rim territory, and does not have any significance to speak of, it is considered Hutt-controlled and smugglers use it as a refuge and a base of operations. Their services are utilized from time to time to complete official Imperial business in situations where troops would attract far too much attention.
It is in our best interest to maintain a presence here, and keep a finger on the pulse of the local Hutts. Your involvement on Tatooine must fall outside the jurisdiction of the 501st and that of the Empire as well. While you will act as Imperial troops, you will not officially exist. All records of each trooper will be removed from master documentation. The Emperor’s aids will personally be in charge of your unit and others like yours.
There are quarters for your group near the spaceport. TD-1009’s helmet feed will display the information necessary to locate it. There is a local cantina nearby frequented by pilots of all types that is considered a hot spot. Your patrolling presence will help control this establishment as well.”
With that, the flickering image retracted into the small wafer-sized card.
Rogue slid it into his belt pouch and said, “Lt. Tank informed me that our shuttle was going to be followed down by a Sentinel-class troop drop ship. Those troops will be split and work in two units, both alone and with us on our first mission here. Apparently the Corellian ship the Devastator captured ejected several escape pods during the fighting. Most were destroyed by gunners. Several made it through. Onboard one of those pods is sensitive Imperial Intelligence of interest to Lord Vader. One pod was never pulled into the planetary gravity well, and was recovered in orbit, above, but no information was found onboard. Three made it all the way down here. Our job is to help recover those pods find that data. OK men, let’s get going and find this bloody post we’ve been assigned to, it looks like we are going to be here a while.”
There was the slightest evidence of an accent in his voice. I had heard it before, somewhere at one of the many posts over the years. Everyone grabbed up their gear, and an environmental pack if they didn’t have one, and fell into a line behind him. There were several different styles of packs in the lot. I guess Tatooine didn’t warrant the new stuff.
0600, who had a lip full of Mandalorian sweet grass, lifted the lower edge of his bucket and spit. “Welcome to the ass-end of space gentlemen.”
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 11:32:32 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 4 – Settling In
After securing the shuttle, we walked up a small flight of sandy stairs into a hallway that would eventually empty us out on the street. As we walked the length of it, we passed the entrances to many docking bays like the one we arrived in. 88 . . 87 . . 86.
As we passed the entrance to docking bay 85, I saw the hulking, hairy back of a Wookiee disappearing down the stairs with his human companion. They were arguing, in somewhat hushed tones, about how best to break the news to someone named Jabba about a blockade and a dumped shipment of spice. The Wook was howling and flailing his arms as they disappeared around the corner at the bottom of the stairs.
Beneath the cover of my helmet, I closed my eyes, and shook my head, letting it go for now. I was sure I would be dealing with it soon enough.
The smell from the streets of Mos Eisley drifted over us before we ever reached them. This was a run-down little city, formed from the sand and rock on which it sat.
It was old, dirty, and well broken in, a lot like most of us. There were street vendors peddling their goods to anyone who happened to make eye contact. Food of varying origins was cooking in small street-side cafes. Deals were being made, and beasts of burden were everywhere, hence the smell. There were Rontos and Dewbacks mostly, but I did see a tethered Bantha down one of the side streets.
It was fairly unremarkable, and reminiscent of any one of the countless urine-soaked, poo-doo splattered city streets I had seen on any number of different worlds, except for the heat. I had been stationed in desert locations before, but a glance skyward told me Tatooine was dissimilar in that it had two suns. The binary stars Tatoo I and Tatoo II were blazing down on us as we trudged onward through the streets. My body glove was struggling to keep up with the rising temperature under the mid-morning blaze, and it was decidedly an uphill battle.
This was a harsh environment, and most of the species we had seen so far appeared to have successfully adapted to living in the hot climate. Some sat at the street's edges, leaning back on the buildings in what little shade there was to be had. Almost all wore loose-fitting, layered garments made from thin material that allowed air to flow through.
Some smoked long pipes as they rested. Young street children ran through the roadway playing games in the sunshine, each trying to make a credit or two with the occasional odd job, and in some cases stealing food and water from the merchants or off unattended cafe tables to keep from starving to death.
This was definitely the part of town that prospered on the traffic from the spaceport. Based on what we had seen flying in overhead, straying one or two roads in either direction away from the immediate vicinity of the spaceport or marketplace left you in areas almost completely deserted. Here though, there was shop after shop of fuels, lubricants, and spare starship parts, cluttered with every outdated part you could imagine.
In one window I happened to catch sight of a thermal hydrospanner pack for a Sullustian WaveRunner. Those things had been out of production for several generations. Still, the shop owners here were trying to wring a meager living out of what they had to offer. I watched their eyes following us uneasily as we marched past.
Some Imperial troops were nothing more than thugs, especially when charged with policing an out of the way place like this. They loved the power of being in control. It was the old “Big Otay in a little pond” story. That wasn’t my style. While I had no problem enforcing the law, or detaining someone of interest, I never shook down shop owners for credits, although I knew plenty who had over the years. Hopefully my new squad-mates were not of that sort.
Most troops that did that type of thing stockpiled their “earnings” to pave the way for a nice, quiet getaway from the Empire once they amassed enough to live on comfortably.
We passed a fabric and clothing dealer, several gaming and gambling dens, and a second-hand blaster shop with lots of guns and parts. Taka was hopelessly intrigued with the last one, stopping momentarily to step close, shielding the glare with his hand and peer in through the dust-covered plate of transparisteel at the weapons and parts displayed.
Damn it was hot.
I felt the first beads of sweat forming on my brow as we came to an intersection. The group turned right. I glanced down the street to the left. Nothing but more sand there, and a Sentinel ship flying low over the Mos Eisley rooftops.
I turned right and caught up with the group, mentioning the Sentinel to Rogue. We were headed down a corridor of small buildings toward what looked like a dead-end. Further down, where the road ended, there were vehicles parked in front of a low-slung building with a small, recessed, semi-circular doorway.
Jawas hung around, running their hands over all of the swoops and speeders left unattended outside. They scurried away, jabbering with their yellow eyes glowing brightly whenever someone walked past toward the door. It seemed to be a popular place, and was probably the tavern mentioned in the holo. I would have to check it out later.
Our barracks were located in a sun-bleached building on our right. TD-1009 rapped on several of the door panels. It was secured, and from the look of the sand drifted up against it and gathered in the crack of the seals, it had been for some time. Rogue pulled out his assignment datacard and inserted it into a small adjacent slot on the wall. With a groan, the rusty sliding door opened. He entered, and the other troops followed him inside. I turned to check our backs, and stepped through the blast door into the shade.
Immediately, the polarized lenses in my bucket adjusted to the darkness. Infrared sensing imagery winked on in a heads up display projected on the eyepieces. We were all looking around, trying to figure out where everything was when our new CO moved to a control panel. Four rusted portals in the wall facing the street slid open with the horrible scraping of metal on metal as he activated the switch. Daylight and fresh air streamed in, and just as suddenly as it had appeared, my imaging display was gone, and I could now see the room in detail.
Thick dust hung in the air, sliced by the bright light, and now blown by the gentle, hot breeze. There were several small data terminals, holonet ports and large storage crates in this front room. I pulled off my helmet and walked through a narrow hallway lined with lockers and shelves into a large room in the rear of the building. There were six sets of bunks and bedding, and even more sand on the floor back here. Somehow, I didn’t think we would ever get away from it.
I walked in and lights flickered on as I slid the field pack off my shoulders, dropping it on the first lower bunk on the right side. My other squad-mates filed past me, each also looking around and then claiming their own space. Walking further back between the bunks, I stepped through a wide arch to find a plate metal door beyond. I opened it into a fairly large storage room. The walls, ceiling and floor were fortified with plate durasteel armor. It appeared to be a secure room for storing supplies and weapons.
I walked back to the front room, where Falker and Blade were working on activating a holonet data stream terminal and Rogue was taking inventory of what we had to work with. “We’ll need our supplies brought over from the Spaceport.”
“I’ll go back to the shuttle for them” I said, volunteering.
“I’ll help him” said TD-600, dropping his pack and bag.
Pulling on our buckets, we stepped back out to the street and headed off toward the spaceport. The twin suns had slipped somewhat from their highest daily peak, and were beginning the afternoon descent toward nightfall they had been making for millennia across the Tatooine sky. I watched ships slowly lifting skyward from the spaceport bays, gently riding their silent repulsor-lift fields, then engaging their drive systems to climb toward the cold darkness of the stars above.
TD-600 rested his DLT-19 rifle on his arm. “So, what’s your story?” he asked.
I glanced over to him as we walked, “Me? Oh, I’ve served on more worlds than I can remember, but only stationed long-term on a few. After I finished my training on Carida, I was assigned to Jakku, a remote desert planet a lot like this place. I enjoyed the solitude there. Not many inhabitants. I went through my desert survival and sniper training there. Learning those things from my instructors was one thing. Actually using them to survive was something altogether different.
After the planet was secured, a permanent listening post was established, to monitor a vast number of mining facilities. Ore was being cut out of the planet and shuttled away on gigantic barge sleds at a rate that made me wonder how long the planet would remain on anyone’s star charts. I was in a small squad of troopers left in charge for several years and then reassigned to Cicarpous IV. I was there a year or so before I could transfer out.
Most recently I was in the Anoat system . . . Sniper and Demolitions. The only inhabited planet, Anoat II, is a filthy world of dense, humid jungles, rainforests, and deserted ruins honeycombed with subterranean sewers and caves.
Most of my time there was spent crawling through those awful places during our initial occupation and seize of command. We had to fight our way into the cities from below, as the indigenous lifeforms had the upper hand, entrenched in the ruins above. We lost more than a few good troopers in those battles.
I spent more time than I care to remember in the stinking water and sludge under that city retrieving the wounded and trapped from deepwater starship wreckage brought down in that battle.
I am more than happy to be back to a familiar, dry assignment for a change. What about you? Your Kessel story must be far more interesting than mine.”
He turned his helmet toward me. "This isn't my first time in this dump" he said, glancing around as we continued down the street, sand crunching beneath our boots.
"It was here on Tatooine, a long time ago now, that I decided to become a Trooper. My brother and I had made our way here in the cargo hold of a freighter after our parents were killed. He was really mechanically inclined, a real wizard with machines, and we had been prepping this beaten down old pod for his boss to enter in some hyped local race.
The old man ran a little repair shop on the edge of town, and he had hired a tall lady gunslinger to protect the pod in off hours, until the race. Apparently there were some pretty hefty rivals breathing down his neck. I got to talking to the woman one day, and she agreed to take me out to the canyons and show me how to target and shoot like a professional. My brother was busy working on the pod, so we were satisfied nothing would happen while we were gone.
We were on our way back to the city after a great afternoon of picking off womprats when we saw the thick, black smoke against the blue sky. The garage had been bombed while we had been out. The pod was destroyed, and my brother was killed instantly in the explosion. Once he was gone I was alone. I did some digging for suspects, some real hard work to find his killer, and then I took care of business, ya know? It was later that I discovered the guy was a goon for one of the Hutts.
Some of the locals were talking about it and how the Hutt was saying somebody was going to pay for it with their life. I needed a way off this world, and a way to hide for the rest of my life. I had no money and nowhere to go, so I signed up with a squad that was passing through. They came in rotations every other season or so to check on things and used our barracks as temporary housing while they were here. The Empire took me to Carida and then on to other assignments over the years. It was in the jungles on Malastare that another trooper introduced me to Mandalorian Sweet Grass. You want some?" he asked, producing a small bag of the moist leaves.
I declined as he raised the lower edge of his bucket and spit into the hot sand, turning to look at me again.
I glanced his way. “So, you and 1009 have known each other for a while? Did you guys train together on Carida, or just know each other from Kessel?"
He took a few steps in silence, then turned back to me, "Just between you and me, OK?"
I nodded back, "Of course."
He glanced around, then began his story, "Yeah, we trained together on Carida, and he goes by Rogue, but have you ever heard of Belliran V?"
I thought for a moment, "Yeah. It was all over the holonet a few years back, who hasn’t heard of it. There was a huge massacre there, quite a scandal. Why? What does that have to do with you?"
He motioned to the hallway just ahead that led to the docking bays. Once inside the hall he stepped into the shadows and stopped, pulling off his helmet. I stopped and removed mine as he glanced around again.
"Typical", he said. "I'm sure the Empire covered it up, all neat and tidy while they flogged their scapegoats. Rogue and I had just arrived on Belliran V, transferred in from Malastare and newly assigned to a small squad. We were learning the ropes about our new duties and the local inhabitants, the Ithorians, better known as Hammerheads. They were a group of Ithorian, herbivore pilgrims that had splintered from the main population on Ithor and relocated to Belliran V seeking religious freedom. Our mission was a simple one, to protect and defend a small-scale mining operation. The Empire had struck a deal with Incom. The starship manufacturer had set up a small mining colony and was drilling out a semi-rare mineral used as an additive in the production of durasteel, to make it stronger and lighter.
The Hammerheads were a peaceful people that found their way of life turned upside down by the mining. It was being destroyed by the presence of Incom and the Empire. Several of their sacred grounds were demolished without a second thought to make way for a landing platform complex. Our gun towers kept the Hammerheads at bay, but we started experiencing vandalism during the night hours. This quickly escalated into other terrorist activities and ultimately evolved into a full scale, organized Rebellion.
It was about 10 standard months later that Incom officials reported to the Empire they had successfully mined out all the ore they could, and was closing down the installation. The Empire considered leaving a base behind, but their investment in facilities was minimal and it was decided that once the Incom personnel were safely off-planet, our troops would vacate as well and destroy the base from orbit, leaving what Hammerheads survived behind with their explosive anger over the desecration of their holy grounds. As misfortune would have it, the task of covering the troop extraction fell to our squad.
The last Incom cargo ship was loaded and prepping for departure when terrorists infiltrated our defenses, destroying our gun tower and opening a huge breach in the perimeter. The cargo ship was slowly lifting off as thousands of angry Hammerheads swarmed into the complex, blasting anything that moved and destroying the mining machinery. There were explosions all around and the blaster fire was heavy.
The Hammerheads hurriedly assembled a crude cannon and fired on the departing Incom ship. The hull ruptured in a shower of sparking, hot metallic fragments that rained down on us. The ship rolled over twice before crashing headlong into the base, digging a fiery trench from one side to the other. The fuel cells ignited, exploding with amazing force, rocking the entire complex.
Many in our group were killed as we retreated through the falling debris and scorched ground toward the landing platform. I remember seeing our Squad leader throw off his bucket and grab up a T-21 repeating rifle from one of our fallen. He charged to the top of a smoking rubble pile and blasted away at the Hammerheads, but there were far too many of them. They swarmed over him, beating him with sticks, drowning him in a sea of Ithorian rage.
Rogue and I were retreating through the thick smoke toward our shuttle when an overhead gantry was rocked by an explosion and buckled, throwing those at the top to their deaths. We were caught in the cascade of falling bodies and twisted durasteel that came down. Everything went black at that point."
He stopped, taking a breath. "When we came to, there was silence. We were caught beneath a pile of bodies; men we had served with. The Hammerheads had overlooked us, believing us to be dead also. I pulled Rogue out of the bloody pile and dragged him across the devastated landing pad toward the heavily damaged shuttle. Taka, who at that time was also in our squad, had also somehow managed to survive and was already onboard trying to bring the engines on-line.
I clipped Rogue into a harness and went to work trying to re-route power to the drive system. I finally got that figured out, using the metal body of my blaster between two key contact points as a makeshift bridge for the power to course through. I moved over to secure the rear of the ship and saw Hammerheads heading our way; thousands of them. I manually raised the access ramp and quickly hand-pumped the airlocks seals. Taka kicked on the repulsor controls, pushing us up from the deck quickly as the angry Ithorians swarmed the platform, jumping for the retracting gear on our ship.
As we made our escape out of the atmosphere, the entire base, all of the buildings, and thousands of Hammerheads were obliterated from orbit by one of our Destroyers, which immediately jumped to hyperspace away from the planet. Left behind, we slowly limped away from Belliran V. The engines were way underpowered, as my blaster offered too much resistance to the flow of energy.
Several days later we made an emergency landing on Malastare. All three of us were taken to a medical lab and sedated for healing. Rogue was treated for his wounds, but had very fitful sleep; recurring nightmares of the invasion and the swarming masses prevented any true, recuperative rest. When we were revived, we got the biggest surprise of all. We discovered that we had been moved to the medical lab of a prison facility.
Taka was gone, but we were being held on formal charges of Desertion and informal charges of Cowardice in a Battle Situation. Rogue and I both wondered, and still do I guess, if Taka worked a deal to be let go, in exchange for our imprisonment. There’ve been a lot of years of thinking about it and a fair amount of resentment towards him. I’m sure he’s not too comfortable being reassigned with us. He probably thought he’d never see us again. He said he thought we were dead. I just don’t know. It was a shock seeing him when we strapped in back on Kessel. It stirred up a lot of things that probably would have been better off left in the past.
The Holonet portrayed us as the troops that destroyed the Incom base and along with it, thousands of Hammerheads. Basically we were being molded into just the scapegoats the Empire needed to cover up the Belliran V massacre. We were sentenced to 4 years of hard labor in the Imperial Prison on Kessel, to be followed by a lifetime post there. We were completely shamed, shipped there immediately after sentencing, and locked up in the general population with common scum inmates from a thousand worlds.
We survived the slow passage of time. Time that only seemed to intensify the terrifying dreams that Rogue suffered from. Something in him just snapped that day at the base and he was never the same afterward. The guards knew what we were in for, and treated us like dogs. After the first 2 years, we were made to work deep in the pitch black mine shafts, drilling and then carefully extracting GlitterStim.
GlitterStim is a naturally occuring mineral, a spice that lies dormant in the darkness of the mines. It’s collected in complete darkness and contained in light-shielding wraps for distribution among the galaxy's biggest crime bosses. Users of the spice know that GlitterStim is dormant until removed from its' light-shielding wrap. It then begins to spark a bright blue. Once it begins the sparking, the user ingests it, allowing them a rush of euphoria and temporary telepathic abilities. We continued working in the mines, and were later moved under Doole, overseeing the spice mining and distribution, his personal side business.
Rogue was made a drilling foreman, and I was put in charge of demolitions and new mine shaft development. We would still be doing that if someone hadn't volunteered us for duty here. I’m still trying to sort out if it was someone who thought they were helping us, or someone who thought this was a fate worse than where we were."
He pulled his bucket back on, and stepped back out into the street, continuing on toward the shuttle. "Rogue's dreams have subsided somewhat, but Belliran V haunts us both. Neither of us really likes to think of that night. When you guys picked us up, we were both given a new opportunity, a way out, so we accepted without hesitation. I had no idea it would be here, or that Taka would be a part of it."
I followed in stunned silence.
He just looked ahead until we turned into the hallway that led to the docking bays. We were approaching bay 85, and I glanced down the stairs again. "Hey, let's check something out."
He nodded and walked back to the steps with me. Silently we descended the stairs, stepping lightly as we made our way to the sandy bay floor. I could hear nothing but the hum of charging and pumping units. He glanced around the corner. We saw a battered old freighter connected to refueling lines, but nothing of her crew, nothing but still silence.
"After what I saw and overheard earlier, I think it might be a good idea to just check this out."
I listened a few moments longer and, satisfied there was no one around, slid my slung rifle off my shoulder and switched it on as we made our way toward the extended entry ramp. 0600 glanced around once more as we paused at the bottom of the ramp and then ascended into the heavily worn ship.
The interior was no prettier, showing the signs of years of constant, heavy wear and smelled of freshly-welded metals and hyperdrive cooling fluid. I noted that some heavy modifications had been made as I walked past the holo-gaming table and crew bunks.
The ship, however, appeared empty. As we walked, the thermal imaging system in 0600's helmet showed only trace heat signatures near the engines. I walked out a short hall and stepped into the cockpit, knocking a pair of dangling metal chance cubes with my helmet as I looked around. The two seats here were empty as well.
We completed our inspection of the cargo areas, walking the metallic planking that encircled the core of the ship’s interior.
Satisfied with having found nothing, and there being no visible evidence of spice cargo, we exited the ship and headed up the stairs toward docking bay 98.
*
Several droids attended to the fueling of our ship as we walked past to the cargo ramp. Tank had already unloaded some of our gear and was going over the manifest. He set his drink down as we walked up. “Take your time guys, as much as I loved leaving this place when I left, I’m in no hurry to shove off until you’re finished.”
We propped our rifles against the ramp hydraulics and moved inside. 0600 turned back to Tank, eyeing him cautiously, “So, you’re from here?”
The young pilot reclined on top of the refueler beside one of the landing gear feet, sipping his drink. “I was born and raised here. Well, not HERE in this city, but Anchorhead, not far from here. Tion made it very clear I needed to be on my way back as soon as you were dropped and unloaded, so you take your time. Ralltiir is still too unstable, and they need me back ASAP. He pulled me from my regular duties there because I know Tatooine and Denon Station. Normally I fly combat surveillance sweeps, and there are still large pockets of resistance left to flush out. I do wish I had the time to go see some of my old friends here, though. You know, show them how far I’ve come and how planet-bound they all still are.”
He laughed, grinning widely. “I’ll stop in and see them next time.”
His gaze swept around the room slowly, then lifted skyward, his grin fading as he took another drink. “I know they’ll all be right where I left them. Nothing ever changes around here except the dunes.”
“Right” we nodded, removing the restraints from our repulsor-sled.
The straps and heavy metal buckles fell to the gridded deck plate, and the sled lifted slightly. We eased it down the ramp. The load was large, but there was plenty of room for the other gear scattered out here to be added on top, and we got to work.
There were packages of dried food rations, portable power plants, chargers, and blasters, among other supplies. One of the huge crates on the sled was marked "Raw Impervium", in Aurabesh. Every piece of Stormtrooper body armor was formed from Impervium, a very strong, durable material. It could be shaped using a small device with pre-designed parameters loaded in memory. An armor part was selected from the displayed listing. A trooper would then pour the measured amount of the raw material, the consistency of a thick soup, into a small container. The tiny extended electrodes on the tip of the display unit were pushed into the liquid and the forming program was initiated. The Impervium was then charged with a flux of ions passing through it in a pulse pattern; a pattern distinctive to the part desired. The ion flux warped and distorted the white material into the perfect shape of the armor piece needed.
Once the ion field was removed, the armor piece hardened, never to liquefy again. Helmets could not be created in this way in the field due to the extensive electronics embedded in them, but most protective body, arm and leg panels could be created on site, on the fly. Impervium armor was a great defense. Low-powered, or indirect blaster fire generally glanced off the hardened surface, although it did little to protect against full-power, direct head on shots.
Tank disconnected the fueling lines and disappeared inside the shuttle as 0600 crisscrossed the load with wide straps and cinched them tight. With the sled secured, we grabbed our rifles and shoved the floating load toward the cargo lift, just beyond the stairwell. We maneuvered the sled onto the platform and pulled the sand-worn lever. The ancient mechanical lift jerked to a start and slowly rose to the level above. Tank walked to the end of the boarding ramp.
I called down to him, “You’re all clear, thanks for the ride.”
He yelled back, “Enjoy the sand!”
We pushed the hovering sled ahead of us, and I swatted a few Jawas away from the supplies as we walked down the hallway toward the street.
*
We slowly made our way through the streets pushing the sled, as citizens who had not seen us before hurried to tell others that there was once again a Stormtrooper presence in Mos Eisley. We stopped in front of our post, activated the door and stepped inside. Our CO, XO and others had been busy while we had been gone. They had emptied the storage crates in the front office of their contents and had put together the beginnings of a respectable command post information center.
Falker and Blade had successfully connected to the holonet, and were streaming the most recent information regarding wanted smugglers and deviants thought to be somewhere on this rock.
4120 cracked the seal on the final crate as we entered. He looked up from the case of E-11s. "I love the smell of new blasters! AHHH!!!"
Rogue stepped out of the bunk room, “Take the supply sled down the side alley to the rear of the building. There’s a loading dock around back. You can just push the whole load into the storage are behind the bunk room.”
0600 nodded and stepped back outside as I turned and aimed my blaster at the same Jawa that had been trailing us from the docking bay, and he scampered away.
0600 dragged the sled back to the alley and pushed it down the narrow corridor.
Long shadows from the setting suns now stretched across the buildings and streets as we moved to the rear dock. The narrow alley opened into a much wider courtyard between our building and the one behind it. The sky was beginning to darken as our XO, 4120, raised the rear bay door. Etz and Taka came out to help us. We pushed the sled up the slightly inclined ramp and through the open door.
I stepped back out onto the loading dock, noticing what looked like a battered transport parked amidst a pile of junk and discarded scrap metal across the courtyard. An enormous moisture 'vaporator rose up over the building just beyond it, probably for use in the spaceport.
I jumped off the dock and walked over to the transport. It bore faded Imperial markings and was obviously intended for troop deployment, but I wondered as to its effectiveness in all of this sand.
Etz walked up beside me, “Looks like its seen better times.”
“It sure has” I nodded in agreement, noting the multiple blast points and running my hands over the crumpled metal skin of the pilot’s door. “When I was on Dantooine we commandeered some of the local beasts of burden for troop mobility. I imagine we’ll probably be seeing more of the local Rontos and Dewbacks, especially if we’ll be searching the wastelands for the missing pods. Poodoo. I just can't seem to escape Poodoo.”
I shook my head as Etz walked back to the loading dock. I turned and followed, stepping inside and pulling the door closed behind me. We walked out of the rear storage area into the bunk room.
Rogue was busy working on a schedule for spaceport sweep shifts on the wall display. If sensitive information did make it to the surface of this planet, this would be the most likely place it would be brought, to be sold, or to take it off-world. If we could secure the spaceport, the data could be found. It was only a matter of time.
I pulled off my bucket, “Anybody up for a look inside the little bar across the street? I’m so hungry I could eat one of those Rontos we saw earlier.”
Rogue turned and straightened up a bit, nodding his head and said, “Yeah, I could use a bite myself, but we should go in our flight suits and blend in with the other pilots; try to get a low-profile first look at some of our local clientele. Just a thought.”
“And a good one” I agreed.
Etz, 4120, and the others pulled off their helmets and started peeling off armor plates.
Rogue continued, “We’ll need to eat, check things out for awhile and then settle in for the night. The Commander on the Sentinel contacted us while you two were gone. He has secured Dewbacks, and will be running a series of daylight sweeps on the far side of Tatooine looking for escape pod beacon signatures. We’ll pick up where they leave off at dawn. They will be in bay 98 to pick us up at first light.”
I nodded, as I removed my armor, my thoughts drifting back to the Wookiee and the pilot I had overheard earlier. I wondered if they might be drinking tonight. Our first day on Tatooine was drawing to a close.
I pulled my flight suit from my gear bag. There was no way we could have known what lay ahead.
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 11:43:38 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 5 – Feeling Out Mos Eisley
The scanning blue lights of the antique door sensor unit jumped back and forth, and a low, gurgling sound streamed out of it as we passed through the vestibule of the Mos Eisely Cantina. The bartender glanced up at the sound, and with a weary scowl, went back to pouring his drinks.
We stepped down three steps into a room filled with music, and the unintelligible din of a hundred simultaneous conversations. Those many voices speaking at once was competing with the Bith band in the corner, busy jamming and wailing out their music. It reminded me of the mixed sounds drifting out of some of the little pubs way down on the surface of Coruscant, the ones that served the best tasting food, the ones you had to really look hard for.
It was a space dimly lit by small table-top luminaries around the room, and lights hanging over the bar. The uneasy air was thick with the smoke from a dozen or more pipe smokers seated throughout the room and at the bar, mindlessly fogging the room with their intoxicating, aromatic haze. The bartender was serving two twin females at the bar, and trying a little too hard to impress them.
Patrons, local regulars, and pilots from the spaceport sat at tables scattered throughout the bar, engaged in heated card games and sporting half-empty drinks. Recessed table alcoves scalloped the exterior walls, for those customers seeking, a bit more privacy.
A loud laugh rose above the murmur.
Taka, Rogue and Topolev walked down the steps and headed for the bar. I followed down to the floor of the bar, carefully scanning for the Wook. I didn’t see him, but the place was packed with an impressive array of outlanders, spacers and throttle jocks from all over the known galaxy. Falker and Blade were checking out the crowd as well.
Rogue had made himself at home and was talking to the twins at the bar as he waited for his drink. They laughed and drank Sullustian wine as they wriggled closer to him, leaning in and hanging on his shoulders. His drink was slammed down on the bar in front of him, the contents of the container sloshing over the rim. He looked down at it and then up to the bartender as the rotund server turned his back and moved on to the other numerous orders awaiting him. Taka caught Rogue’s side eye and shook his head at the poor service.
Topolev received his drink in much the same manner as Rogue, and walked past me toward the band. I heard him talking to one of the locals, asking about the music. Figrin Da’n and the Modal Nodes was their name. He walked over to them, eyes skimming over the dimly lit crowd as he walked through the room. The Bith band members played very unusual instruments and swayed and pitched their large bulbous heads around in time with the music. Their long fingers moved with agile skill over various keys and sensors producing a bouncy, smooth sound.
4120 had a dark, brewed drink with thick foam sitting on top and was walking toward us through the crowd. I noticed a dark, hooded figure with a broad, long beak wearing large goggles watching him from just outside one of the dimly lit side alcoves. 0600 walked over to me and handed me one of the brews.
“Cheers”, he said, holding out the drink.
I took the drink and cocked my head in the direction of the dark creature watching our XO. 0600 flicked his eyes to the creature. “He’s been watching 4120 since we walked in. I was looking for the Wookiee I saw earlier when I spotted this guy. He’s taking quite an interest.”
We both moved to the outer edge of the room and wandered slowly toward him, watching as his attention remained focused on 4120 and not us. A green-skinned Rodian pushed gruffly past 0600, giving a grunt and a surly look as he passed. He moved a little too quickly, but no one seemed to be following him. He wore a gun belt and was looking around the room nervously.
We moved closer to the dark, robed figure just ahead. He was making squeaking noises into a device in his palm, when he suddenly caught sight of us. It was, however a moment too late, as 0600 and I took him by the arms and shoved him into the adjacent alcove, knocking into the table inside. We startled a Bith who was seated alone, drinking at the table. He knocked over his drink as he scrambled to escape the booth unharmed.
I shoved the creature to the bench seat as he squeaked in fear. I held tight, took a long sip of my drink, and looked around the room to see if anyone had noticed us. The barkeep was watching, but quickly turned away when he saw me looking back.
0600 placed an index finger to his mouth, vertically across his lips as he stepped in front of the captive. The struggling figure quieted. My fellow trooper pointed to his ear and shook his head to let him know we didn’t understand. I turned my head to scan the outer room again. No civilians seemed to have noticed our move, although the other members of our party had seen what happened and were heading our way.
0600 put his drink on the table and withdrew a small earpiece from his belt, switched it on and placed it over his ear. I motioned for him to speak again. He started squeaking, and the earpiece scanned varying conversion algorithms, until 0600 heard the squeaks translated into Basic. He looked up to the creature, nodding his head. The dark figure began again.
“I am Garindan. You don't have to use your hands, I understand you perfectly. I simply lack the vocal cords to reproduce your language. I have served the Empire before, here on the Streets of Mos Eisley, when the other troops were here before you.”
He shook his head as he saw our realization. “Yes. I know you are in service to the Emperor. I worked with the last unit stationed here many seasons ago to gather and funnel intelligence from the streets and would like very much to continue that with you, in exchange for your good favor, small shipments of Spice to support my habit, and the occasional turning away of your eye to my deeds.”
Rogue, Topelev, Etz and 4120 were now standing just outside the booth area, watching the crowd as 0600 digested what he had just heard. Taka and Blade were in position near the door watching who came and went. Falker and 1265 covered the back door as Ddraig moved through the crowd, watching everyone.
0600 lifted his drink and took a long sip. "We have us a snitch, guys, and he's looking for work."
Rogue ran his eyes over the cowering form of Garindan. "What makes him think we need or want his assistance, and why should we believe anything he tells us?"
0600 commented as he switched his earpiece onto speaker mode, "He can understand what you're saying, ask him."
We all pulled closer to listen over the noises of the bar as Garindan began speaking again, "I know this city, and the people in it. They come and go, but it is usually the same faces. Occasionally there are newcomers, but they pass through here either arriving to stay, or leaving for good. I can help you, and my needs are few."
Rogue was thinking, staring at the luminary on the table.
4120 broke the silence, pushing Garindan aside to speak privately to us. “You heard the holo, we’re outside the Legion, hell even outside the Empire on this one. We’re hanging out here all by our lonesome and we could use some help to hit the ground running. If his knowledge of the city and its people is as good as he's boasting, it’ll make our lives a lot easier. He may even have already heard something that could help us with our current mission."
Rogue nodded in agreement as he looked at the snitch, "OK. We'll try this and see how it works, understand? If it doesn't, or you cross us, I will have no hesitation about making you disappear from the streets of this city as if you never existed."
Garindan nodded his understanding. I released my grip on his arm and took a deeper swallow of my drink as he straightened his cloak.
Rogue pulled a comlink from his belt and handed it to our new agent. "If you uncover anything of use to us, contact me. I will answer." Garindan nodded again as Rogue continued. "There are others sweeping the surrounding regions right now searching for an escape pod beacon. There is something of interest to us onboard. Have you heard talk of this or did you see a pod come down?"
The snitch though a moment, and then spoke, "I have not heard of what you speak, nor have I seen any such object fall from the sky, but this is a big place. I know that some of the desert scavengers, the Jawas, have huge Sandcrawlers that crisscross the desert in search of scrap and salvageable parts and supplies. If anyone would know about it, they would. They may even already have the item for which you search. Let me see what I can find out, and I will report in shortly."
Rogue nodded, allowing Garindan to slip between us and make his way past Falker and 1265, out the back door of the Cantina. We all slid into the bench seat and took over the table we had been standing around.
Etz put his plate of food down and spoke up first, "I have a very bad feeling about this." Topolev grabbed a piece of grilled meat from the plate and took a bite, as Etz shot him an angry look. The others casually walked over to the table, still watching the crowd.
We all considered his comment, then all started to speak at once. 4120's voice was the loudest, so he continued, "If it doesn't work, we make a public example out of him, showing how bad an idea it is to cross us. I see this as a win-win situation. If it works out, we find the pod and the information; a rapid success for our first mission here. If it fails, we sacrifice the snitch, instilling a little fear in the local residents, and still find the missing intelligence. It may take a little longer, but the result will be the same either way. We stand to lose nothing."
Several nods of agreement came back from around the table as we all now ate from Etz' plate. Rogue raised his container above the luminary, “To the first night in our new post. To the Sandtroopers of the 104th Moisture Farm Patrol."
We all raised our cups and brought them together in the center of the table before each downed a mouthful of the intoxicating liquids. As I swallowed, I noticed a large hairy beast coming down the steps into the bar. The Wookiee had decided to drink tonight after all. For his size, he moved with incredible agility through the crowded room toward the rear of the bar.
An old man standing at the bar stopped the hairy hulk, and the two spoke for several minutes. They both nodded their heads slightly, and the old man smiled, patting the Wook on the shoulder as their conversation came to a close, as if they knew each other.
The Wookiee continued on toward a dimly lit table in the back of the Cantina as the old man pulled his hood up around his face. I turned my head to follow the Wook to the table, and when I looked back to the bar where they had been, the old man was gone.
The dim table in the alcove contained a human seated with a lady friend, having drinks. He wore a vest, and military trousers bearing a broken red stripe down the outside of the legs. Somewhere in his past, an act of extreme bravery had earned him the distinction of the Corellian Blood Stripe. He and the woman were reclining quite comfortably as they watched the band play.
His eyes cautiously flicked toward the door occasionally, making sure he knew who was coming and who was going.
The Wook slid in on the opposite side of the table. The human sat up, leaning away from the girl, and had a small conversation with the Wookiee. The Wook grunted and nodded, rising from the table, crossing the floor of the bar and disappearing out the front entrance. The pilot took a final swallow of his drink, and settled back in with his companion.
I finished my drink and rose "I'm going to get a little air", moving to follow the hairy beast.
The entry sensor gurgled its' blue light again as I walked past, out into the sandy street.
The Tatooine night air was cool, and the vast sea of stars above had popped from the hazy blue sky of the daylight and now shone brightly against the endless black.
I thought of the Sentinel crew flying their sweeps, and how we would join the search in the morning. I watched as the giant Wookiee walked away down the street. He was almost out of sight when he turned into the hallway leading to the spaceport docking bays. He was most likely heading back to their battered Corellian YT-1300 freighter.
The Rodian from inside the bar pushed past me and muttered something under his breath as he made his way down the street toward the hallway the Wook had just taken. He stopped, turned around, and scanned both sides of the street before disappearing down the dark passage himself. Several ships were lifting off from their bays, and a Dewback grunted and coughed to my right, as it rattled the restraints holding it in place.
I heard a throaty cry from far off, echoing on the winds; more strange creatures to discover. I was just about to follow the Rodian, when the rest of the group came through the door.
Rogue led them, "All right, let's get some sleep. I have an alert set to wake us just before first light. We need to be in bay 98 waiting for that drop ship."
He handed me a container of warm food as he walked past. I put a piece of the grilled meat in my mouth and began to chew as I turned to look at the passage the Wook had taken. I turned slowly following the others across the street to our barracks.
It would keep.
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 12:00:47 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 6 – Needle in a Sand Dune
The empty streets were still silent and dark, and the lingering chill of the night was still on us as we marched; proceeding into the narrow hallway heading toward the rendezvous point in the spaceport.
One by one, we filed down the stairs, and found ourselves in a small service bay adjacent to the bay pit itself.
Instead of an empty bay or the Sentinel ship we expected to find, there was a worn shuttle and a small gathering of men. While most were dressed in the simple desert cloaks and tunics of the region, one stood out from the others, wearing the military uniform and black cape of a graduate of the Imperial Naval Academy.
A Flight Officer dressed completely in black was checking names from a list and addressing the small gathering.
“ . . . . and Samira Tevddeh. You men will be assigned to the starship Dominator. Our last recruit, Academy graduate Biggs Darklighter will be assigned as Third Mate to the starship Rand Ecliptic. We’ll be underway shortly and delivering you to your assigned posts. Please board now and find a seat.”
The flight officer caught sight of us as he wrapped up with his men, and walked over to meet Rogue. “We were expecting a Sentinel ship from the Star Destroyer Devastator, circling above” said our CO, gesturing skyward with an extended thumb.
The caped graduate, Darklighter, cocked his head slightly to the side, listening to their conversation as the officer responded, “Sorry, I’m not your ride. The Sentinel is on its’ way in, I’m just shuttling some new recruits offworld, although I did hear that the Devastator captured a ship of rebels yesterday.”
Rogue nodded, “That’s right, we’re searching for some sensitive data that was ejected from the ship during the fighting.”
Darklighter smiled and laughed quietly to himself as one of the other recruits leaned closer to him, “What’s so funny?”
The dark-haired Tatooine native turned a bit more serious, “I just realized my best friend was right about something, and no one believed him, that’s all.”
A tech poked his head out of the shuttle, “Sir, the Sentinel just signaled. We need to vacate the bay so they can land.”
The flight officer spun away from Rogue and walked back toward his shuttle, calling back over his shoulder, “Good Luck in your search. OK, Everybody in!”
The small shuttle powered up as Biggs Darklighter took a last, slow look around and whispered, "I'll be watching for you, buddy".
As soon as the bay ‘droid removed the fueling lines from the ship's belly, and her hatches sealed, she rose out of the bay and away into the deep blue of the morning sky.
For a few moments there was silence. Then, the whine of engines echoed off the walls of the empty bay as the drop ship moved over the pit opening. It carefully descended, coming to rest just beyond where we were standing.
This was the Sentinel-class troop drop ship. Sienar Fleet Systems and Cygnus Spaceworks had borrowed heavily from their elegant Imperial shuttle design in the development of the Sentinel-class landing craft. My helmet display rapidly cycled through a catalog of ships, finally displaying its schematic.
The enlarged cargo hold could carry six squads (a total of 54 soldiers) as well as a dozen repeating blasters and six speeder bikes. It boasted four deflector shield generators, four retractable laser cannons, two concussion missile launchers, an ion cannon, a bank of rotating repeating blasters, and optional combat armor plating.
To be manned fully, it required a command crew of five, including the pilot, the copilot/sensor officer, and three gunners. In the field, they were generally flown with a pilot and a sensor officer with the gun controls slaved to the pilot.
The Sentinel's removable seating units allowed the ship to be quickly converted to a straight combat vehicle delivery vessel or troop-deployment drop ship. In this mode, the landing craft could carry three dozen speeder bikes or a dozen compact assault vehicles. As the dual rear cargo bay doors opened to the sides and the ramp lowered, we could see that, in fact, the seats had been removed and 3 Dewbacks and a Bantha were tethered to restraints in the floor plates. Several troops marched down the ramp toward us as the smell of the Animals wafted out of the hold, washing over us.
Rogue removed his helmet, "I'm the CO, Captain".
The lead trooper from the ship crossed to us and removed his helmet.
"I’m Captain Tyrell. We have swept the portions of the planet that were exposed, possible landing sites for the pods. Two have been located, neither had the plans inside. There is a third signature that we picked up out in the Dune Sea, way beyond the city here, even beyond the borders of the moisture farms and the Jundland Wastes. We were going to inspect the site, but time was nearing for us to meet, so we aborted. A few of my men will continue on with you. The flight crew has been rotated. The remainder of my crew and I will catch some rest. Let us know if you recover anything of interest."
As he finished, he snapped a salute to Rogue, who returned it.
None of the locations Tyrell had described held any meaning for us yet. We would have to review the data charts in the shuttle to get a better feel for where we were heading.
He and his troops disappeared up the stairs toward the city as we entered the rear of the cargo area. One of the troopers left behind came forward into the light as we walked up the boarding ramp, "We have a lot of ground to cover between here and the indicated point of impact. I'm TD 1023, Davin Felth. Welcome aboard. OK pilot, let’s go!"
I shook his hand, "I’m TD 2187, Terek Deckard" and continued on to the jump seats.
Rogue and 4120 were reviewing the log and the navigational charts as the engines came back online, and the flight crew prepared to head back out.
We all strapped in as the ship lifted clear of the bay pit. The darkness of the cool Tatooine morning was shattered as Tatoo I broke the horizon, streaming sunlight across the sands and rocky terrain, slicing across the highest peaks of the domed buildings.
As we disappeared into the distance, the Corellian freighter 0600 and I had searched the day before silently rose out of her docking pit into the morning air and flew off toward the little town of Mos Espa.
In reality, the Wook and the human’s destination was a much closer section of the nearby mountains between Mos Espa and Mos Eisley.
*
The dewbacks and bantha were grunting and shifting, trying to maintain their footing as the ship rocked side to side. One of the desert lizards snapped his tail against the side wall with a deafening thud. Felth was sitting, strapped in between Danz and Blade, several seats down from me.
He yelled in my direction to be heard over the engines and the livestock, "The pod's signature was pretty weak. We’re going to need these guys to help us cover the ground near the impact site", he said, gesturing toward the dewbacks.
I nodded, as the ship raced away from the spaceport of Mos Eisley toward the open expanses of the Dune Sea.
The sand seemed to go on endlessly in every direction; rolling dunes that shifted with the hot winds, changing the landscape before your eyes, if you watched closely enough. 4120 was at the navigator's station, and watched as we drew nearer to the small pinging mark on the scope. "Just ahead. Find a place to set her down" he said. "We should do the rest on foot, or we might miss it entirely".
The pilot nodded, and the craft slowed and rolled to the right. The dewbacks scraped at the deck trying to maintain traction as the craft pitched into the turn. I heard the gear extending beneath us, and then the gentle bump as we contacted the sand, and settled in.
The engines wound down, as the flight crew exited the cockpit. Rogue released the rear door seals and opened the broad doors wide allowing the already warm morning air and bright orange sunlight in. As the others exited into the sand, Etz, Topolev and I released the clamps tethering the dewbacks to the deck plate. We coaxed them down the ramp into the sand, leaving the bantha behind for now. Felth was eager to get moving. He seemed to want to impress his Captain by locating the pod.
The tanned Ronto-leather saddle strained and stretched as Etz grabbed the hanging straps of the fur-covered saddlebag pouch and climbed onto the back of the of the first dewback. Topolev and 4120 did the same, climbing onto the remaining two sand lizards. They settled into the large leather saddles and retrieved the Dewback stun prods from their protective pouches, screwing the long poles together in the center.
The giant animals shuddered a bit, adjusting to the weight of the riders on their backs. 4120’s dewback roared, and bucked abruptly as he shocked the beast just behind the head with the long stun prod. The angry animal turned and wandered slowly off toward the nearby ridge, shaking its head and kicking up a spray of sand with each step under its' powerful limbs.
As Etz lowered the front of his prod to shock his Dewback into action, the mount cried out, shaking his head and hurrying to catch up with 4120. Falker, 1265 and Taka walked in their tracks. 0600 and I followed close behind them with Rogue, Ddraig and Felth.
All of us on foot walked in a staggered formation, fanning out, advancing off toward the horizon, scanning in every direction for a glint of sunlight, a blown hatch, any hint of a part of the ejected pod. It fell from beyond the atmosphere, impacting somewhere near here without firing its braking thrusters. There should be some visible evidence; a crater, scorched sand, something.
We walked on for quite some time, over several large dunes finding still nothing each time we crossed the next crest. Rogue raised the Sentinel crew on his comlink, and asked for another sweep to try and pinpoint the target a little more precisely. We had walked to the bottom of the next valley before they flew overhead and swept past us over the next several dunes. I pulled out my macrobinoculars and snapped them on, scanning the horizon line.
The problem with the rolling dunes out here was that the horizon could be a days' walk or a short hike depending on the size of the dune that was in front of you. I snapped them off again. They were pretty useless from the ground, unless things were to flatten out more.
“All these dunes are starting to look alike.”
Etz sat up tall in his saddle, straining to see, as the comm crackled, and the Sentinel crew reported a sharper ping on the beacon just over the next ridge.
* * *
The landing gear of the Corellian freighter settled into the sand, compressing it under her weight as the sub-light engines wound down. The captain switched off all systems, exited the cockpit, and walked toward the rear of the ship.
The Wook was opening a maintenance panel in the wall of the engine compartment when the human walked past, giving a status report, “We’re in good shape; nobody followed us.”
He reached into his personal bunk space for a toolbox, and looked back over his shoulder, “Chewie, let’s wait on that. Take the rest of the cases out of the smuggling compartments and put them in the cache. We might need to use that space, and it’ll need to be empty. When you’re done, I need you to check out the targeting system for the upper quad gun array.”
The Wookiee grunted and growled a reply as he closed the panel back over and instead grabbed a small electromagnetic handle. He made his way toward the top of the boarding ramp and knelt down. Placing the handle on the floor plate, he pressed the button set into the grip, firmly attaching it to the plate. His Wookiee arms easily lifted the first of the heavy metal panels. Once opened, he set to work digging out a half dozen cases of contraband spice from beneath the deck.
The human captain walked down the access ramp behind his co-pilot, carrying his tools. He set them down and stripped off his vest and shirt, dropping them in a careless pile at the bottom of the ramp next to the tools. As the Wook walked past him with an armful, Solo stepped off the ramp into the sand and moved beneath the ship, opening an access panel in the underbelly.
It was still fairly early in the day, but the twin suns were already beating incessantly down on Tatooine. The massive hull of his ship overhead shielded him from the direct rays, but the heat was all around, radiating up from the sand. He reached inside the panel opening up to his elbow as he checked on the integrity of some of his custom modifications. Several of the specialized parts needed re-seating. He reached into the box for a tool and set to work.
The shaggy co-pilot had walked several meters away from the ship, carrying the metal cases full of smuggled Kessel spice up a steep incline. There had originally been MUCH more spice onboard, but they were forced to eject most of the obvious, visible cargo when threatened with boarding by an Imperial blockade.
These hidden cases were now all that remained of Jabba’s shipment.
It would not be enough to appease the Hutt’s anger over his loss, and could be sold in the future for cash without him being any the wiser. The Wook turned and looked around, scanning the cliffs and canyons to make sure no one was watching and to ensure that the Krayt Dragons that nest in the nearby rocks were otherwise occupied.
Smuggling spice was not something he thought he would ever do, but it had become a necessary part of his life after the fall of the Republic, and was part of the repayment of a life-debt to his friend, Captain Solo. It also kept him connected to Tatooine and in frequent, inconspicuous contact with the aging General, for the inescapable duty Yoda had entrusted to him.
The enormous Wookiee knew that call to duty was now fast approaching. He moved toward a dark shadow among the rocks of the cliff face and stepped right into the darkness of the narrow slot, disappearing into an all but hidden cave.
The cool of the shadows here was welcomed as the Wookiee carried his armful to the rear of the cave. He squeezed between stacked crates of blasters and rifles, a lockbox of money, military medical supplies and other various recovered treasures from his many years of flying co-pilot to Han Solo. This was one of several private stashes of goods, money and arms for whatever opportunity might come their way. The Wookiee reached the back wall of the cave and stacked the cases of Glitterstim on the ground. He then turned and walked back to the entrance of the dim cave, to head back to the much-needed repairs awaiting him.
Abruptly he stopped suddenly inside the entryway to the cave, standing motionless.
A huge scale-covered leg was making its way past the opening, followed by a whipping tail. The Wookiee leaned forward slightly, peering around the rocks, one hand on his crossbow. A fully matured male Krayt Dragon had been just outside, on patrol, guarding its home territory. This smugglers cache of Solo’s would never be in any danger of being pilfered. Few had the stomach to be so close to the nesting area of the huge beasts. Even the Tusken Raiders left them alone. When the area was clear, he moved out of the cave and down the hill to the ship below.
* * *
We all turned toward the hovering drop ship and walked in the direction of the next dune of mounded sand, hopefully the last one between us and the pod. The early morning heat was taking its' toll. Our body gloves were straining to keep us cool, and our environmental packs quietly whirred away pulling moisture from the air for us to drink, but the glaring, reflected heat from all of the sand wasn't helping our search efforts. We made our way up to the top of the ridge and once again looked for any indication that a pod had come down here.
A hot, gusting breeze blew small intermittent streams of sand across the ground, giving the appearance of a low-lying, tan fog. The tiny stone particles whipped against our boots and shin armor with a sound similar to that of swift running water.
At first, there was nothing out there to be seen. Then Topolev spotted something. He was up high on the Dewback, and could see over this small valley into the next. "There's definitely something there. Not sure if it’s our pod, but there’s something."
We all raced down the incline of the dune into the valley, sand and dust spraying up against our leg armor from the rapid advance. Then we mounted the eroding sands of the slope on the far side, slowly making our way upward. With each step, I felt my boots sink up to my ankle in the sand, slipping, and making very little forward progress.
The Dewbacks dug in and climbed with their broad, flat feet up the sandy embankment, pushing mounds of sand down in their wake. As we cleared the top of the ridgeline and caught our breath, we saw what Topolev had seen. It was unmistakable. We all saw it.
We had found the impact site.
A wave of accomplishment and relief settled over us. Lord Vader would not need to make an appearance here after all. Rogue ordered the drop ship to set down on the ridge. We all moved down the slope, sand spraying once again against our shin armor as we half stepped and half slid down the steep grade.
As we drew nearer and nearer to the impact site, what had looked like shadow from a distance, became the unmistakable marks of eroded footprints in the immediate vicinity of the pod. If there had been tracks any further out, they had been wiped clean by the winds.
Topolev and Etz remained on their Dewbacks. 4120 dismounted and walked about with his rifle lowered, surveying the skyline. He and Taka watched our backs as we advanced.
Falker, Ddraig and Blade surveyed the area around the pod with 0600. The barely visible marks in the sand that remained gave no indicator as to whether or not they led to, or away from the crash site. The pod could not have made it past our gunners with someone on board. They would never have let it get past.
It must have been the desert scavengers and their Sandcrawler. But if it was the Jawas, their crawler would surely have left far deeper tracks than these footprints, and they would likely have taken the entire pod.
"This doesn't make any sense! Do these tracks lead to, or away from the pod?" asked Rogue.
0600, Danz and Falker moved in closer and inspected the inside of the pod. Danz stepped back out into the sand, “Nothing here", he reported. "No data recordings, nothing, but I can tell you someone opened the hatch . . . from the inside."
Felth and I walked slowly along the line of prints in the sand, buckets down, checking the ground for clues, anything. Felth knelt down as Rogue looked back at the pod. He noted the direction of the prints and how they curved away from the impact site. "Well, if the hatch was opened from the inside then the only thing that makes sense here is that . . .”
He paused, turning away from the pod, his eyes scanning the direction the tracks seemed to indicate. “Someone was in the pod. The tracks go off in this direction", he said, pointing his E-11 across the dunes as the realization hit him.
Felth abruptly stood up from his crouch, examining a small metallic ring in his hand, rocking it back and forth for Rogue to see. “Look, sir, Droids!"
Rogue let the comment sink in a moment before responding. “That certainly explains why no life forms were scanned by our gunners. Now we know that the data made it to the surface, and that a 'droid must be in possession of it. We also know it presents us with a whole new issue.” He paused for a breath as he scanned the horizon. “Which 'droid, and where is it now?"
We were back to the first step of our search again. Rogue knew it, we all knew it.
"Judging from the tracks, we’re looking for a biped of some type." said 0600.
Rogue nodded his agreement. "A bi-pedal 'droid that is used to starship duty and finds itself walking in an environment like this couldn't have made it very far on foot."
He switched on his comm, "Sentinel crew, recalibrate the search parameters and prepare for dust-off. We need to do a more specialized sweep of the surrounding areas. We're looking for 'droids."
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 12:19:13 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 7 - ‘Droid Hunt
The complex targeting system from the upper quad gun array was in pieces; scattered across the upper hull near the cockpit. The Wookiee skillfully probed the exposed circuitry with a diagnostic scanner in search of the problem.
Captain Solo was working down inside one of the engine vents on the rear upper hull when he heard a loud growl echoing off the surrounding hills as his co-pilot lost his patience with the job he was working on.
Solo stood up into the bright sunlight, squinting and grinning broadly at the familiar, frustrated growl of his friend, and laughed to himself. He bent back down inside the vent and sprayed lubricant on the louvered heat dispersing vanes under his feet, and worked the vane back and forth with his hands until it moved freely.
In his mind he pictured his frustrated first mate. Laughing a bit to himself again at the thought of the irritated Wookiee, he climbed out of the open vent wiping thick, dark fluid from his hands with a red rag before throwing it down on the metal skin of his ship.
As he replaced the gridded vent cover he yelled out, loud enough to be heard below. “Relax Chewie, I’ll be right over and give you a hand”.
* * *
I watched as wave after wave of sand in this barren Dune Sea washed silently beneath the low-flying drop ship.
Our search wore on, and there was no escaping the smell of the animal passengers with us in the cargo area.
"Hey, check that out." Etz called out, pointing.
Felth stood, looking out the gunner's viewport. The skull and skeletal spine of a huge, long-dead beast stretched out along the crest of the passing ridgeline below.
I leaned forward and nodded as I looked out.
0600 poured the sand from his boots into a small pyramid on the deck, “That’s the bones of a Krayt Dragon. Usually they’re found in the rockier parts, in mountain caves, but they come here to the dunes to die. Banthas do the same thing. Somewhere out here there’s a Bantha Graveyard full of bones. Sometimes local kids skip classes and waste the day out here looking for it.”
Although we had been sweeping for hours, the scanners had not picked up any droid signatures yet. It was late in the day, and the twin suns were sliding toward the horizon when 0600 spotted tracks in the sand beneath us.
The pilot circled back around and dropped down closer to the surface to check them out. He set us down beside the tracks and released the door mechanism. We exited down the rear ramp into the sand to check out what 0600 had seen from the air. Rogue and I knelt, examining the depth of the tracks as Falker looked off toward the hills in the distance.
They were definitely not from any organic creature. They were made by something large, and with great weight bearing down on a mechanical drive system, no repulsor field for this vehicle. Perhaps these were the tracks of the elusive Sandcrawler.
Topolev crouched momentarily, also examining the tracks. He stood, following them with his eyes. They headed in a straight line toward the sharp, upward-thrust range of sand swept stone mountains that Falker was staring at. “They’re heading off that way, toward those hills in the distance.”
Danz nodded his agreement.
“Let’s go.” said Falker.
We climbed back inside and dusted off quickly, following the tracks toward the stony mountains.
We set down near the base of the hills, and filed out the back, leaving the animals behind to eat on large bales of food, with the doors open wide to help ventilate the hold and dissipate the smell. There were small foot tracks, many appearing among the larger, vehicular tracks and then fanning out, leading up into the hills following several paths.
These may very well have been Jawa tracks.
TD-0324 and a couple of other troopers from Tyrell’s flight crew walked off on their own, following one set of tracks up the sharp embankment of a ravine.
We followed another snaking trail of the small tracks up into the hills. We drew our blasters and powered them on, holding them at the ready.
We were about halfway up the coarse embankment, scanning for life when I heard the same throaty cry I had heard howling on the wind outside the Cantina. It was joined by a chorus of several other howls and wails and grunting followed by a horrible scream and a discharged E-11 blast. Several other quick blaster discharges followed, and then silence.
My group turned and doubled back, quickly scrambling in the direction of the noise. We came over a sandy rise and saw a robed, grunting creature with a disfigured head stooping over TD-0324, rummaging through the Impervium utility belt at his waist. There were three dead troopers lying scattered behind it and several other creatures were racing away further up the hill on foot.
As we appeared, it stood up and turned toward us. It was tall, and thrusting a meter-long metal club over its' head, now letting out an even louder war cry. We could now see that the head was not misshapen or disfigured, it was wrapped with bandages. It had a breather opening at the mouth and metal portals where the eyes should have been. Metal spikes were randomly thrust out of the bandages on its' head, giving it an even more fierce appearance.
The head wraps and loosely draped garments were a primitive form of desert survival, protection from the sands and winds in this wasteland. It was shaking the club back and forth over its' head as it wailed and snarled from beneath the head wrappings. One end of the weapon was curved into a blunt, round club head with a sharp center spike. The other end tapered into a spike surrounded by sharp, bladed fins. This end was covered in the blood of the impaled trooper lying at the creature's feet.
We all froze for just a second, not quite sure what to make of this thing. It was 0600 that reacted first, lowering his blaster rifle and blowing a gaping hole through the chest of the wailing desert nomad. It fell to the sand in a heap, dropping the club as smoke curled away from the wound imposed by the sudden burst of energy from the heavy rifle.
We walked closer to get a better look. I raised my eyes and blaster, scanning the cliffs around us, in case others were watching, waiting for a chance to attack the rest of us. There did not appear to be any that I could see. This trooper and the others were dead, as was the creature.
"Tusken Raider", said 0600, kicking the twitching leg of the body lying in the sand, that’s what the locals call them. They’re known as Sandpeople. These things are not to be messed with", he said as he walked over to the discarded weapon and picked up the dropped Gaffi stick.
He turned the war club over in his hands as he slowly walked a bit further up to the plateau at the top of the hill. His eyes swept across the rocks, "Check this out guys".
We walked up to the top of the ravine, catching up to him.
"I bet we find the others in his raiding party, or maybe a fugitive droid in there", he said, pointing across the flat mesa to a small cave opening in the rocks.
Rogue and the others circled around a large rock and moved in closer to the cave to get a better look.
0600 was looking over the heavy club as I walked past to join the search group, "I think I'm gonna hang on to this" he said. "You never know when it might come in handy."
I nodded in agreement, "Nice little trophy too.”
He followed me toward the cave.
4120, 1344, Danz, Etz and I entered the cave as Rogue, 0600 and Topolev covered us, watching the cliffs surrounding the plateau. Confident there were no Tuskens to our rear, they followed us inside, leaving Taka to guard the entrance.
Our infrared helmet imaging systems flickered on in the darkness of the cave. It smelled of death. The remains of several small desert animals lay on a small rock inside. Most had been slaughtered and eaten, but what pieces remained permeated the room with a foul smell.
Topolev found several clubs resting against the cave wall as we advanced, “Those are mine when we head out”, he said, pointing to the Gaffi sticks.
Danz picked up a small mechanical device off the floor of the cave, and shrugged, “I can’t be sure, but it looks like a calibration tool of some kind. I bet they bought it from our Jawas”.
We spread out as the narrow room at the entrance expanded into a darker, larger cavern with craggy stalactites hanging from the ceiling. A few shabby blankets were wound into sleeping nests on the uneven ground in the darker areas near the walls.
Rogue went to examine them as Etz looked up at a sudden movement among the rocks overhead. A Tusken dropped down, howling; its bladed gaffi pointed straight down for the kill.
Instead of being stabbed through his neck and down into his chest, the blade struck Etz on his protective shoulder armor and glanced off, knocking him to the ground. Another creature jumped on Danz, who swiveled away and cracked the creature square in the face with the butt of his rifle, driving the metal eyepieces back into the skull beneath the wraps.
In the ensuing confusion, I was knocked to the floor from behind by the blunt end of a gaffi in my back. My helmet flew off and rolled aside as the creature jumped over me, wielding the club and howling.
Etz blew a hole through the Tusken on top of him and rolled over, taking aim at the one just struck by Danz, but Falker beat him and Topolev to it, blasting a smoking hole through the bandaged neck of the beast.
0600 turned abruptly at the waist, jamming the gaffi stick he held firmly through the chest of the Tusken charging him as Topolev blasted it.
4120 took aim at the creature struggling with me but couldn’t get a clear shot.
I kicked the feet out from under the robed Tusken standing over me and rolled to my feet as the creature rose up, flailing its stick at me in wide arcs, cutting through the air just in front of me. I jerked my head back out of the way to avoid being struck, but was a second too late, as the sharpened spike on the tip of the weapon sliced through the skin on my brow. As the sharp tip flew by again, I reached up, grabbed the Tusken by the neck, jammed the muzzle of my blaster in the flailing creature’s mouth and quickly pulled the trigger. I saw a bright red flash in the eyepieces, and the limp Tusken corpse dropped to the cave floor.
I spun back to the others with my blaster held out, squinting to see in the dim light. They had their blasters pointing my way. I bent down and picked up my helmet, putting my gloved hand to my forehead. When I pulled it away, blood covered the palm and dripped freely from my sliced head.
We turned toward the entrance of the cave and walked past Taka back out into the light of the day. I wiped the blood from my face and eyes, and pressed hard against the slice wound as I took a seat on the small rock just outside.
Topolev came out behind Danz carrying an armful of the deadly spiked metal clubs. “There’s one here for each of us, if you want them.”
I opened several of the belt compartments on my utility belt searching for bandages. The first had reinforced cord and a small grappling hook, the second small concussion charges. Finally I found the right one with several small packages of bandages and a topical bacta spray.
Topolev dropped a gaffi stick beside me. Etz and 0600 walked past me as I squeezed my split skin together and stretched the bacta-coated bandage in place, pressing it down hard. I looked up, "Hey, is your shoulder OK?"
He looked back, "Yeah it's fine, I was lucky. How's the head?"
"I'll live.”
0600 walked to the center of the clearing before calling back to us. "I thought this was where we were. Behold gentlemen, the ruins of the first B'omarr Monk temple on Tatooine."
He gestured toward a small ruined pile of stone.
I stood up closing my belt, and we all walked over to him for a closer look.
"The B'omarr built this small shrine as a gathering point to meditate in the tranquility of the desert after the crash of their starship, up there”, he said, pointing to the top of the sandy peaks behind the stone pile.
The shifting sands over the centuries had all but buried the remnants of the B'Omarr vessel, but the main drive thrusters could still be seen, angled up toward the sky slightly, and protruding from the cliff side.
“The first B’Omarr had a temple here. This small shrine was just the top of a network of tunnels and caverns inside these jagged hills, but that, gentlemen, is a story and excursion into the desert for another time", and he walked away from the small crumbling building. “The monks built a much more heavily fortified palace further out in the Dune Sea before they began shedding their bodies. We may pass near it later if we continue on our previous course."
"Excuse me, did you say 'shedding their bodies?", asked Etz, rubbing his shoulder.
0600 grinned wide beneath his bucket, "That's right. After the palace was completed, the monks all underwent a procedure that removed their brains from their bodies, and placed it into a life-supporting, nutrient-rich liquid in clear jars. They felt if they were free from the restraints of the physical body, their meditations would take them deeper into understanding the universe. There’s a small army of spider-walker 'droids in the palace. They remove the jars from the central meditation chamber when a monk has the desire to move about."
Etz said nothing more.
I stood up, holding my head, "These Sandpeople must have bought that calibrator from the Jawas. Those ‘crawler tracks were recent. We need to be looking for Jawas, and their Sandcrawler. They must have picked up our wandering 'droid."
I walked to the edge of the plateau and looked down into the vast valley stretching out before me. Tatoo I had just sunk beneath the mountains on the horizon, and Tatoo II was not far behind. The landscape in this direction was brutal. "Sandcrawler or not, they didn't go this way."
0600 nodded his head in agreement. "You're right about that. Even a 'crawler wouldn't make it through that. We need to head back to the ship and set our sensors for a Jawa Sandcrawler. That should be a little easier to find than a half-buried escape pod or a lost 'droid."
*
The second of the twin suns was almost setting as we raced through a pass in the low hills searching for the large mechanized transport of the Jawas.
0600 sat forward, "There's the palace." We all looked out the gunner's port as we moved past the massive, domed structure.
Etz sat back uneasily, contemplating the dismembered brains walking about inside.
0600 spoke under his breath, more to himself than anyone else, "They're not the only tenants anymore."
As our ship disappeared toward the horizon, an occupant emerged from another ship that had landed just outside the monk’s palace. He stepped off the extended ramp into the sand; the heat baking his Mandalorian armor.
There was a job to be done. He had been called in to collect from a smuggler, by one of the Palace’s newer tenants, Jabba the Hutt.
* * *
The second of the two suns was disappearing beneath the horizon as Captain Solo secured the last piece of the targeting system back in place under the long barrels of the upper Quad-Gun array.
Han spoke into the microphone of his headset as he finished up, “It’s getting dark, let’s finish up out here. I want to get a quick inventory of the cache, and there’s more work to do inside. We can stay here tonight and head back to the spaceport in the morning.”
The Wookiee barked a response into his headset as he re-connected the power couplings and cycled through a synchronization process on the gun. When it finished, he slipped into the adjacent gunner’s chair and grabbed the controls. The small display monitor before him flickered to life as the guns rose on the outside of the ship, mimicking his movements. He grunted gently in the back of his throat, appearing satisfied.
Outside the window, Solo stood up, pulled off his headset, and stepped away from the swiveling guns, heading for the top hatch.
* * *
Tatoo II had settled just below the horizon when we dropped over a ridge and came across what we had been searching for. There, just ahead, stopped for the night, with a camp made and fires blazing, was not one, but two of the massive Sandcrawlers.
Our pilot rolled toward them and set down just outside their camp. We could see the little creatures scurrying around their huge vehicle as we disembarked.
As we walked away from the Sentinel and drew closer to the Crawler, we could see many of the little creatures hiding behind the massive treads of their vehicle, watching us closely to see what we would do. One Jawa warily left his hiding place and walked slowly over to us with his arm outstretched, as if to welcome us. He jabbered several small phrases before 0600 could switch on his bucket translator.
A series of small whistles issued from his helmet as it scanned the translation algorithms trying to convert to speech. Then he nodded his head, "I've got it. It's a little broken, must be the local dialect, but I think I can translate it."
0600 spoke to the little creature, and his bucket emitted a series of garbled messages, converted to the Jawa language. "We are looking for a 'droid that you may have found wandering in the desert. It probably looks like us, with 2 legs."
The small, brown-robed creature seemed to think a moment before responding. "Many 'droids and scrap we have, from the wastes, but no recoveries of any that stand and walk as you do. I check with the others", and he turned and ran toward the front tread on the looming ‘crawler.
Rogue instinctively raised his rifle at the quick movement, but 0600 waved a hand. "It's OK, he's just going to see if any of the others know anything. He says they have many droids. Some collected from the wastelands, but they haven’t picked up any bipeds."
Several other Jawas poked their heads around the side of the vehicle and joined the messenger, yellow eyes glowing brightly in the dim twilight. They all turned their backs to us and began to jabber among themselves as they continued their interrupted meal, turning around several times to check on us.
When the small band had finished discussing the 'droids, the little leader returned to us, saying that the driver of the other ‘crawler had not recovered any bipeds either, but noted that there was at least one other ‘crawler out in the Dune Sea that may have.
0600 thanked the little creature and stood up to face Rogue. "They don't know anything about a biped 'droid. We surprised them, they're pretty shaken. He would have told us."
We all lowered our blasters and filed back on board the drop ship. "Back to square one", said 4120 as he sat down in his jump seat.
“Yup”, replied Blade.
The little Jawa licked at a thick, sticky, orange goo on his hand, watching intently as our drop ship lifted off into the fiery golden-brown of the dying daylight.
He wondered if perhaps any of us might possibly have been interested in the little blue astromech the other, third ‘crawler out in the dunes had recovered among the rocky canyons at the edge of the wastes.
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 12:28:26 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 8 - Interrogations
We continued on, sweeping the endless rolling fields of sand for the missing Sandcrawler, until the last of the light had been exhausted. Although our instruments could continue picking up signals, we were fatigued beyond reading them. We set down at the base of a rocky outcropping along the edge of the Dune Sea, near the Jundland Wastes.
The livestock was offloaded, tethered to the side of the ship, and left to graze on large bales of food brought from the cargo area. Temperatures were beginning to drop without the suns overhead for warmth, so we took part of one of the compressed food bales and set it afire just outside the rear of the ship.
1265 took the first guard shift, scanning the area with his thermal imaging so the rest of us could get some sleep.
As we gathered around the blaze, settling in for the night, Danz propped himself up on one elbow, the firelight throwing flickering light and shadow across his armor. He looked over to Blade, “So what was that all about back up on the Devastator? Who was that up on the gantry?”
All eyes shifted to Blade, curious to hear.
Etz glanced around asking, “What are you talking about?”
Danz sat up fully, “Back up on the Devastator, just as we were about to leave, I was strapped in near the rear hatch and Blade here was boarding. He was talking to Deckard and 4120 when I saw him look up to a dark figure on an overhead access gantry. Whoever it was raised a hand, then turned and disappeared into the shadows as we lifted off. So who was it, Blade?”
Ddraig looked over at Taka, who looked over to Falker and Rogue, then they all turned again toward Blade.
He stared silently into the fire for a few moments then drew in a breath and began his story.
“I’m a third generation soldier. I’m very proud of my family's service history, and have worked hard to live up to their expectations. My father’s position in the Empire has been both a blessing and a curse for me though. He always wanted me to stand in his footsteps one day on the bridge of a cruiser, but I just never considered myself Navy material. My determination to not let family ties influence my path as a soldier has, in some regard, been my undoing.”
1265 paced back and forth, scanning the darkened dunes, blaster drawn and at the ready, but kept an ear open as we all listened closely to Blade continue over the sound of the wind.
"My goal from as far back as I can remember was to join the Imperial Guard. As a boy, I visited my father once on his ship. On that rare occasion I remember standing in fear and awe as special visitors came aboard. I only caught glimpses of the dignitaries with their long red-robed protectors in gleaming, faceless red helmets. I could feel their intimidating glares and stern disposition, even from beneath their expressionless armor. Only the best, the toughest, most dedicated were permitted among their ranks. From that day on I knew what I wanted to be.”
One of the Dewbacks groaned as he continued.
"Years of training and preparation yielded my placement near the top of my class coming out of the Academy. Two seasons later, I was with a chosen few selected to continue my training with the Guard themselves. My father was proud even though I know in his heart he had wanted a different outcome for me. For several months, members of my squad butted heads with one of the other trainees who had been installed as our squad leader and superior. He was the son of a well-known politician. His position in guard training had been maneuvered and bought. The father was well-known for his unscrupulous tactics and pushing shady agendas through the Senate. My father had served with him, and knew the full extent of his corruption."
Blade looked around the fire into our eyes as we listened. Some eyes were on him, some on the fire, some off into the stars.
"My father knew him well, and had clashed with him professionally many times. As time went on, my father advanced, whereas the politician-to-be eventually wound up a little further down in the ranks. There was an altercation one night with several women in a local club, and the other man was dismissed from service. He wasted no time moving into politics, using his contacts to blackmail anyone and everyone he had something on to move himself ahead. Echoing his experience, others in my unit, and I myself, had similar problems with his son. We had to correct him on matters of procedure and protocol, and continually pick up his slack both physically and mentally.
My father warned me to watch him, and he was right. Our training group decided it would be a solid testimony to us all if we made it through under his leadership, or lack thereof. Eventually he would fall by the wayside. We just had to keep training and following his commands, but doing it faster and better than he could. He let it go with everyone but me."
0600 slid his pack off, sat down on an empty equipment crate near the entry ramp, and spit into the darkness. The flames of the fire flickered in the light breeze as Blade continued.
“He was on me constantly, riding me harder and harder right up until our last furlough. It was just before our sequestered training began, separated from the general populace on Carida. It was late in the evening, and I had been finishing a squad report, that he was supposed to have filed. The group was out for a night of drinking before our strict regimen of clean body, clean mind became a way of life. Most of my squad mates had been drinking for hours and were halfway down the row of pubs in the bottom by the time I caught up with them. Our “superior” had apparently enjoyed one too many and was busy spouting off at the mouth about me when I arrived.
I moved to the bar, ignoring him. I stood there with quiet rage, drinking my drink as he belligerently berated me and mocked my exemplary performance. I would not let him get the better of me, not this close, not now. I was determined to keep it together. I successfully kept my anger in check even when my family’s loyalty to the Empire was questioned.
I didn’t make a move, or strike out at him; I just took another sip of my drink. My apparent disinterest enraged him. He wanted so badly for me to hit him and start something. He finally swung his drink container at me, shattering it against my head. I picked myself up off the floor prepared to justifiably give him the beating he had long deserved.
As I did so, he backpedaled in his drunken stupor and fell into the bar, snapping his neck just below the base of his skull. Even though I had never touched him, my fate and future was sealed before his lifeless body hit the floor.”
There was a moment’s silence as he paused, trying to think of how best to proceed.
“It’s hard to explain how it feels to have everything you have worked so hard for just vanish; gone in an instant. My squad mates other witnesses in the bar testified to my innocence, stating that what had happened was nothing more than a tragic accident.
Regardless, the twisted politician saw me as the cause for his loss and used his influence to make sure I would never even be considered for the Guard. I was so close to what I wanted; what I had spent years preparing for. It became a future that would never happen.
After things calmed down, my father asked that I not contact him unless I was in danger. I know his request hadn’t come from a place of anger or disappointment, I knew he was proud of me. He had been in the game long enough to know that even rumor could be enough to influence careers; both his and mine. He was in a position to help me if we remained distant. If anyone ever discovered he was using his influence on my behalf, it could be taken the wrong way by the wrong people. Distance was best, for both of us. Out of respect for him, and the position we were both in, we haven’t spoken in almost ten standard years.
Initially I was assigned to desert training on Jakku, but with the decreasing demand for that specialty, I was moved and cross-trained as an AT-ST pilot. While working my toward AT-AT Commander, I was unceremoniously awakened one night and told to leave everything behind. A cloaked figure escorted me to a remote hangar advising that my belongings would follow shortly.
Papers had been prepared and orders processed for my transfer back into a Stormtrooper position. I found myself strapping on my armor once again, shipping out to a remote building site to oversee and protect a group of structural engineers and an encampment of Wookiee slaves working on a “top clearance only” project.
It was later that season that I earned my call sign. Two slaves broke their shackles and in seconds had overpowered three troopers, killing the first two. It’s amazing how fast those big creatures can move when they’re motivated. The smaller one grabbed my XO, receiving a head shot from one of my squad mates for his trouble. The other lunged for me, but I literally cut him in half with blasts from my DLT-15 repeater as if he had been sliced by a blade. The boss called me Blade after that and the name stuck. It was the first time I had lost friends in combat. Unfortunately, it would not be the last.
With the engineers’ work on the outpost nearly completed, I was once again awakened in the middle of the night by the same cloaked figure as before. I dressed and packed my things, hopping on a transport for my reassignment. This time the destination was the SSD Devastator.
Our long, final approach was extended due to the seizure of a hostile ship in the main hangar bay. Various craft circled to other access points on the massive vessel. Small flashes of light illuminated from beneath the Destroyer, but our holding pattern kept us from a direct view of the skirmish. Our transport was finally cleared to approach a small service bay under the bridge. As we touched down, various personnel went about their tasks, business as usual. Whatever was taking place on the other side of the ship was literally of no consequence here.
I worked my way through the endless maze of halls and corridors down through the core of the Destroyer to a central turbolift cluster. After a long descent, the lift doors finally parted to a flurry of activity in a small sub bay where I was to catch a shuttle for the next leg of my journey.
There were quite a few Stormtroopers moving at the double quick. A deck hand told me my original flight had been cancelled, but directed me to your ship. I walked over and spoke briefly to a couple of you on the ramp as we were loading up. It was then that I caught sight of the shadowy figure on the gantry above, and got the strangest feeling of recognition. I’m convinced it was my father.
I know he asked me not to contact him out of concern for me, and now I’m sure he has been the one quietly moving me around over the years as the situation required. I just wish he could reassign me publicly based on my record. The fact that my new group was full of veterans was a relief. Half of you guys were asleep by the time the engines fired up.
In my minds’ eye, I watched as my father and the Devastator were left behind as we dove away, making that long, stomach-dropping arc toward Tatooine.”
He took a moment to catch his breath, looking into the licking flames of the fire. “I’m finding it hard letting go of my training. In the Guard, the closer you come to the inner circle of power, the less you are allowed to trust. You’re trained to watch everyone, even each other. It’s different out here.” He paused.
“Being a trooper in the field, your unit is all you have. Depending on each other is the way it should be. Just bear in mind, and know there’s nothing personal, but until I’m more comfortable, I’m watching each of you closely. We all must have reasons why we were assigned here. It certainly isn't the best post in the Empire."
We all glanced warily around the fire at each other. None of us really knew all of the others, but we would need to rely on each other to make this work.
Rogue walked away to check in with Captain Tyrell and his men, to let them know of our progress. The rest of us settled a bit more for the night.
I lay back on the inclined metal plank of the boarding ramp, staring up into the massive expanse of stars looming overhead as I wiped a film of fine dust from the lenses of my helmet. Somewhere up there was the Devastator, and Lord Vader, awaiting the recovery of the stolen data recordings. I closed my eyes and almost immediately drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Across the darkened dunes, far away from our small, fire-lit encampment, in the darkened modest dwelling of an aging knight was a nondescript chest. After 20 years buried under several layers of personal belongings in that small trunk, the lightsaber that had been used to slay Jedi in the final hours of the Temple’s grandeur, to slaughter younglings and masters alike with no mercy; this elegant weapon lay poised, ready to return once again to the hand of a Skywalker.
* * *
The still tranquility of the morning air was nearly deafening. I was still reclining on the metal boarding ramp of the Sentinel and had been watching the suns come up when Topolev sat up and rubbed his eyes. I knew we weren't far from the edges of several of the local moisture farms; we had flown over them on the trip out. I wondered if perhaps the other Sandcrawler had ventured in that far to peddle their 'droids to the local farmers?
Rogue moved and sat up now as well, noticing a flashing message indicator from Tyrell on his comlink. He shook his head in disgust as he listened to the recording. "Damn. He's cutting my search team in half!"
"What is it?" said Falker.
Rogue switched off the comlink. "Tyrell had another shuttle dropped from the Devastator overnight. It looks like most of his team was recalled. The ‘destroyer is returning to DS Station and they're shipping out with it. He's going to intercept us this morning and pick up two of his men from our flight crew along with Taka, Danz, Blade, Ddraig, and you to help him with his search efforts."
"I don't mind working for Tyrell for a while as long as we find the missing data. Just don't leave me with him. I don’t think I could take the guy for long" said Falker, and he slapped Rogue on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get moving."
"Right", said Rogue, understanding perfectly, "We have a lot of ground to cover, but I think we're close. I can feel it."
*
The suns were quickly climbing into the sky as the drop ship cruised along, searching for the remaining Sandcrawler. We were skirting the edges of the rocky Jundland Wastes when Tyrell's shuttle intercepted us. We slowed and landed as his ship circled and descended to the sand in front of us.
Rogue sent five of his troops and two of Tyrells troops out of the Sentinel, double-timing it over to the shuttle.
Tyrell’s voice crackled in Rogue’s headset, "We'll re-group back in Mos Eisley. Good hunting." He never exited his ship or showed his face. We watched as our troops disappeared up their boarding ramp and the shuttle climbed back into the sky, heading down one of the ravines into the Wastes.
Rogue exhaled under his bucket, "He's trouble."
*
Moisture 'vaporators soon appeared on the ground below us, spread out in every direction as far as the eye could see as we passed over several sprawling moisture farms. Finally, we came across tread tracks from the third Jawa transport. After following them for some time, we rose over a dune and saw what we had been searching for.
Our pilot banked hard to the right, circling around to the front of the Sandcrawler, coming around to hover beside it. The clanking treads of the large vehicle slowed and stopped moving altogether, as the transport lurched to a halt.
There were several moments of silence and then a side hatch opened and a ramp lowered to the ground. Through clouds of steam venting from various ports, several Jawas came cautiously wandering down into the sand. Our pilot lowered the hovering Sentinel to the ground and opened the rear hatch. We all filed out and circled around to face the little scavengers. Our pilot remained behind, still at the controls of the ship.
0600 moved ahead of the rest of us and already had his helmet translator switched on as he approached the leader. He was already speaking with him as 4120, Felth, and I came walking up.
It was clear the Jawas were anxious as they conversed with us. The leader was scratching his head, appearing to be confused and nervous as he tried to remember the things 0600 was asking for.
"He says he thinks he remembers picking up two bipeds, one of them found out in the dunes, but they sold both just yesterday. One was sold to a moisture farmer and the other to a repair shop in Anchorhead. He's not sure which farm, but thinks it may have been the last one before the Dune Sea."
Tensions were running high. We had been looking for this missing droid now for two days, and Lord Vader was neither patient nor forgiving.
Felth spoke up, his own patience with the little creatures wearing thin, "We're most likely halfway back to Mos Eisley by now, that's a fair bit of backtracking. Is he sure he has it right? Is he sure he isn't hiding something? Maybe we should take a look onboard the ‘crawler" and he drew his blaster, pointing it toward the group gathered at the base of the ramp.
The little Jawa was not sure what to make of Felth's comment, or having the blaster pointed at his friends, and became agitated. Several other Jawas on the ramp began jabbering away.
Silently, a small portal in the hull of the Sandcrawler opened and a nozzle protruded past the protective metal armor plating. Topolev noticed the barrel pointing in our direction, and knocked Rogue out of the way, as the Jawas opened fire on us!
Topolev and Rogue rolled out of the way as the bolt seared past, burning into the already hot sand. Felth swiveled and trained his E-11 blaster on the little leader Jawa, who ran toward the ramp. He took a shot at the little creature and missed. I turned and blasted the little creature off his feet as he ran away.
The Sandcrawler's guns blazed again several more times, as we dove for the sand and returned fire at the turrets and the drive mechanisms. One of the massive treads erupted in a shower of sparks and fell away from the top of the drive gears into a pile in the sand, rendering the Crawler immobile.
4120 ran toward the ‘crawler and up the main ramp, blasting several Jawas out of his way and hurling a handful of thermal detonators inside. He turned and ran back toward us, Jawas scurrying down the ramp of the vehicle behind him. He dove for the sand as the detonators erupted in a series of violent concussive explosions, pushing an invisible blast wave outward with deadly force.
Rogue was just getting to his feet, and hadn’t seen 4120 toss in the detonators. He was thrown back into the sand as the whole structure erupted.
Heavy armored panels were sheared off the vehicle, and flung into the sand around us.
I stood up and turned to see the damage, just as our pilot elevated the Sentinel ship from its landing gear, firing into the command deck of the ‘crawler. We were all firing on the fleeing Jawas now, taking them out one by one. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
The hovering Sentinel settled back into the sand and powered down. A slight wind carried the unmistakable, nostril-burning stench of charred Jawa flesh as we moved closer, into the burned out vehicle. The only sound now was that of small fires crackling.
We slung our rifles, and drew E-11's for close combat as Etz and 0600 led the way up the ramp into the colossal structure. 4120 and I followed as Felth, Topolev, Rogue, and 1265 set up a perimeter around the base of the ‘crawler, watching for any possible approaching onlookers attracted by the smoking ruin.
It was dark inside; the only light from the flickering flames. Smoke was thick in the small corridors, and fragments of dead Jawas were scattered everywhere. We stepped over and around them, and moved higher into the vehicle, working our way around the sites where the detonators had done their damage. Footing was not good, as most of the ramp had been blown away, and the bulkhead alongside it had been pierced, exposing the main cargo bay. It was now a tangle of metal, droid parts, and smoke.
I kicked the dome from a red R5 unit out of the way as we moved still higher to the Command deck and the steering room. Here we saw the damage from the Sentinel's guns.
The hull was breached, and anything in the path of the energy bolts was vaporized. Black, acrid smoke billowed out of sparking, burning electronics and swirled out the gaping holes in the hull into the desert wind. We looked for transfer documents showing any recent sales. A dying Jawa clawed at 4120’s leg, Etz blasted it once in the head to end its misery.
0600 pulled the lifeless bodies of two dead Jawas off a small console and was sifting through flimsy documents spread out beneath them as he looked for evidence of the ‘droid sale. There were records showing two sales today so far. One for a machinist droid to the Toshi Station in Anchorhead, and one prior to that, to a moisture farmer, the last farm out before the Dune Sea. The paperwork showed a transfer of 2 droids, a protocol droid and an astromech. He grabbed the paperwork and turned to make his way out of the burning structure, "I've got what we need. Let's take a closer look outside."
The smoke had cleared somewhat and the bodies of dead Jawas littered the sand around the base of the ‘crawler.
Rogue flipped on his comlink and contacted Captain Tyrell, asking that he check out the machinist 'droid sold to the Tosche Station in Anchorhead, while we doubled back to the moisture farm.
The winds were picking up as we walked back to the drop ship. 4120 and I were discussing how to leave the scene, when 0600 and Topolev walked over discussing the sales documents.
I turned to them, "We were just talking about this scene, and how we should leave it. If the locals see Imperials slaughtering Jawas, they're going to know something’s up and start asking a lot of questions; questions we don't need, and won't be allowed to answer. If we're going to be stationed here, we need to camouflage this scene, and lead the trail away from us."
The others nodded in agreement. 0600 turned toward the group, "Etz, untether the Bantha. She just became very important to the mission."
* * *
An old woman stepped out of a small building into the sunslight, stopped herself, and checked both directions carefully before cautiously continuing across the street. Anchorhead was relatively quiet this morning; there were no damned kids screaming by in their speeders, skyhoppers, or swoops.
Catching sight of a small group of Imperial Stormtroopers making their way toward her, she hurried across to a building on the opposite side and closed the door, watching them nervously as they passed by. A cluster of buildings further down the street made up a small repair shop known as Tosche Station.
Falker had already made a sweep of the perimeter around them. When he was confident of the number of occupants and their positions, he silently waved to Tyrell and the others to advance to his position. They assembled near him and then fanned out, taking up positions around the station.
Inside, Windy laughed, assessing the game before taking his shot, as Deak watched. “Can you believe Skywalker? First I catch him out in their techdome listening to an Academy recruitment tape and checking out applicant information packets, and then he comes blasting in here yesterday all charged up about a ‘battle’ going on right here over Tatooine, what a joke. Nobody would ever fight for this place. I doubt anyone even knows we still exist way out here.”
“Yeah, Wormie’s got a big imagination, alright”, barked Deak, “He’s spent too much time in the hot suns fixing ‘vaporators. Hey, did he come by for those power converters Fixer set aside for him? If he doesn’t, they’re mine. You got the last pair.”
They were arguing over who got the last set of power converters, and Camie was curled up sleeping in the chair behind Fixer’s parts-piled desk when the abrupt invasion occurred. Tyrell burst through the front door of Tosche Station with his blaster drawn with Taka, Danz, and Ddraig flooding in after him, herding the three startled kids to the center of the room.
Falker and Blade escorted Fixer in from the maintenance bay in the next room. His sleeves were rolled up and his arms dirtied with grime and vehicle lubricants from the speeder he had been working on.
Tyrell spoke, “Now that we have your attention, we will search your building. Laze Loneozner, did you recently purchase a new droid?”
Fixer was shaken, scared, and confused as he answered, but tried his best to look calm in front of Camie and the others, “Call me Fixer, everybody calls me . . .”
Tyrell slammed a fist down on the desk, “I don’t care who you are! What about the ‘droid?”
A shaking Fixer replied, “Yes, yes I did, I did! I mean we did. I mean, Merle did. Merle Tosche. He owns the place. He told me to get a new machinist ‘droid, but he paid for it. I bought it from a Jawa Sandcrawler that came through here yesterday. What does that have to do with anything, though? I’ve bought and sold a lot of droids, and never had the Empire care about it.”
Tyrell gave a small nod.
Falker grabbed and folded Fixer’s arm high up behind his back, slamming Loneozner’s head down on the desk, spare parts clanging to the floor. Fixer winced in pain, Camie recoiled a step, covering her mouth, her face betraying her feelings for him.
Tyrell stepped closer, removing his helmet as he leaned down a bit, sweat dripping from his nose. “Show us the respect we deserve and cooperate . . . ”, he was speaking just over Fixer’s head as his gaze lifted and came to rest on Camie, “ . . . or we will leave your repair station in smoking ruins and take all that is precious to you.”
Camie, shaking, took a cautious step back as Tyrell’s eyes looked her up and down, but Ddraig was there with a blaster in her back to keep her from escaping.
“Take the girl and the others outside, but leave Loneozner here”, barked Tyrell, “I want this place turned upside down. NOW!”
* * *
0600, Rogue, and a disappointed Topolev moved around the scene, walking between the twisted metal plates and scattered 'droid parts, randomly dropping several of the Gaffi sticks he had found in the cave. "I'm keeping one of them!", he said, holding on to the last of the war clubs.
Meanwhile Etz rode the Bantha past and around the ‘crawler several times, leaving tracks in the sand to give credible evidence of several mounted Tuskens riding around the scene.
He continued this exercise until the ground appeared trampled by many of the lumbering beasts. Then he walked her back up the ramp of the Sentinel and slipped off her back, snapping her restraints back into the large ring in the floor. The area now had the look of a confrontation between the Tuskens and the Jawas.
We would likely avoid any of the local moisture farmers raising questions, and by taking the purchase orders, we had effectively eliminated any evidence of the droids' existence here.
Taking a last look around the site, we retreated up the ramp of the drop ship and lifted skyward. Our pilot moved away slightly, then rotated back and fired several shots, scorching the ground where our landing gear had settled, leaving no traces of our presence behind. We banked away from the smoking ruin heading off toward the edge of the Dune Sea, and a moisture farm owned by someone named . . . Lars.
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 12:33:21 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 9 – The Lars Place
The sand, rock and windswept dunes making up the barren landscape beneath us slid past quickly as we now flew with a purpose toward one of the moisture farms we had passed earlier this morning.
The fugitives would soon be in our custody, the stolen data extracted and returned to Lord Vader, and the 'droid or 'droids destroyed. I unclipped the macros from my belt and snapped them on, scanning the horizon for any sign of the moisture farm, but there was nothing yet.
I found myself wondering what could be so important that it rattled Lord Vader so remarkably, and how had he been careless enough to allow the rebels to escape with the stolen data in the first place.
*
The small domed entrance to the Lars' dwelling finally came into view and our pilot proceeded in low, circling around the techdome, and allowing us a good visual scan of the farm’s layout. The main living quarters and most of the other structures were built beneath ground, with only their roofs protruding up to break the flat, sandy skyline.
All appeared to have subterranean corridors that emptied into a common, open-air courtyard pit. The dewbacks groaned and flipped their tails around nervously as the Sentinel settled to the ground, squarely in the center of the now-familiar mechanical tracks of the Sandcrawler that had compressed the sand in front of the dwelling.
The rear doors hissed open, and the gusting fresh air from outside rushed in to replace the overwhelming stench from the onboard livestock. We walked the length of the rear ramp to the ground outside and circled around toward the domed entrance of the desert homestead.
A scruffy, aging male dressed in well-worn, but presentable desert wraps came walking out to meet us. Etz and Topolev walked to the edge of the pit and peered down into the open courtyard below.
The man’s eyes followed them as they walked. Felth hung back a bit with 1265, carefully watching the rest of the farm. 4120, 0600, and I stood with Rogue, who walked up to the man as he verified the name on the purchase order, "Mr. Owen Lars?”
"Yeah, that’s right", Owen nodded.
"We have information that tells us you purchased two 'droids yesterday from a Jawa Sandcrawler, is that correct? "
The man squinted a bit, crossing his arms, visibly unnerved by the sudden gathering of Imperial troops on his farm, "Maybe, but why the hell would the Empire care if I buy a couple of 'droids?"
Rogue took a step closer to the moisture farmer, "I'll ask the questions."
Owen narrowed his eyes even more as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He had always thought it would come to something like this one day. First the astromech spewing gibberish about Obi-Wan Kenobi and now this. He had watched over his step-brother's child all these years, knowing in the back of his mind that one day, the Empire that had claimed Anakin would be back one day to claim his son as well.
The fact that Kenobi had remained on Tatooine, in hiding and carefully watching over the boy from a distance, had long foreshadowed this day and the events that were now beginning to unfold. Owen felt sick in the pit of his stomach . . . he hadn't seen this coming, there was no warning like the last time, with the Inquisitor. The guns were still hidden in the courtyard below, but he couldn't get to them, he was defenseless. His mind raced to Beru, down in the kitchen preparing the day’s food.
Thankfully, Luke had gotten an early start with both new 'droids on an errand, off to repair condensers on the South ridge, and not returning for some time. Owen now feared for himself and his wife as he tried to settle back a bit. He had sheltered and protected his nephew from the Empire and crazy Ben Kenobi for too many years to have it all unravel now because of a 'droid searching for his former master.
He wished Kenobi and his master, Qui Gon Jinn, had never come to this place. Anakin would have grown up here with his mother, both slaves to Watto. And yet, he would have been far away from the treachery that became the Empire; the treachery and deception that had ultimately twisted him into the cold darkness he now was.
Owen’s mind was reeling with the chain of events stemming from that fated emergency landing, and the destructive ripple that had swept across the galaxy as a result. That ripple was now culminating with Sandtroopers at his farm on this windy morning. If any one small piece of the puzzle had been different, he might not be in this situation now. With any luck, Luke had already had the astromech's memory flush done.
Owen spoke, "Yeah, I bought two droids yesterday from those greedy little Jawas. They dumped their grimy ‘droids, took my money, and headed off in that direction" he said, pointing across the Jundland Wastes toward Anchorhead.
Rogue nodded in agreement as Owen finished speaking. "I'm sure they did, but I need to see the 'droids you purchased. One of them may have something that was taken from us, and we want it back."
Owen scowled, "I don't know what you're looking for, but they aren't here dammit, they've been taken to, uh . . . Mos Espa for some refurbishing. I paid good money for those blasted 'droids and they both still needed work."
Rogue abruptly turned to 4120, "Search the farm. We need to be sure they aren't here. You and 0600 check the power generator. Deckard, I want you, Etz, and Topolev to check the living quarters. 1265, search the surface structures." Our XO nodded and motioned for the rest of us to follow him.
"I already told you they aren't here", said Owen, uncrossing his arms.
Rogue reflexively responded as did the rest of us, stepping back and leveling our blasters at the scruffily-bearded moisture farmer.
He took a step back, slowly raising his hands. "I have no weapons."
Rogue visually scanned the old man and nodded his confirmation to us. We backed off and walked away toward the entrance dome that led down into the home.
"We'll just wait here Mr. Lars, while we see what my troops turn up", said Rogue.
Owen felt control slipping away, and the sickness he felt in his stomach began twisting into a thick knot as the armor-clad Sandtroopers descended the stairs into the homestead his father had built below. For the first time, he hoped Kenobi was watching from a distance.
1265 headed off to inspect the roofs and surface structures behind the courtyard pit. Etz and Topolev went off in the direction of the living spaces in search of other family members. Etz split off, following a drifting smell from what must be a food preparation area, and I went toward the garage.
Topolev uncovered a tidy, modest sleeping room for Mr. Lars and his wife, and a second, disheveled sleeping room, which showed signs of someone having been there the night prior, and having left in a hurry.
Etz stepped quietly through the hallways until he heard the churning of food processors and cookers.
"Luke, is that you? Did you forget something?" came a voice from the next room. He descended a few steps and found an old woman preparing drinks for a morning meal.
She turned, expecting to see Luke in the doorway, and instead saw Etz, with his blaster lowered at her. She screamed and dropped the container she held in her hand. The blue, milky liquid inside exploded all over her feet and the floor as it hit the ground. She stood shaking, terrified, and transfixed by the sight of the Imperial Sandtrooper in her home. Blue milk dripped from her clothes and the lower cabinets.
Etz spoke, "Hold it right there. I don't want to hurt you. We just have a few questions for you and your husband. Who is . . . Luke?"
*
I descended a short flight of stairs and crossed a narrow gridded gantry through a dark garage area where it appeared several vehicles were stored.
There was an empty, open bay with some tools and parts lying about, and then a second bay with a T-16 Skyhopper parked in it; hardly the norm for aging moisture farmers. I continued on and the gantry emptied out into a grungy, well-worn techdome; a repair center for condensors, vaporators and other farm machinery, including droids.
The room had the smell of heavy oils, burnt wiring, and exhaust residue. I stepped down to the gridded deck plate in the center of the stone room and slowly looked around. Protruding from another parking bay adjacent to the oil bath facility was the nose of a multi-passenger, V-35 landspeeder; a bit more in line with our residents' age and driving needs.
I poked around, looking over repair benches as lights silently winked on and off on the wall control panels. The oil in the oil bath looked like it should have been changed out long ago, but I did notice that it was calibrated to accommodate a plunge depth for a human-sized, bi-pedal protocol 'droid.
A hooked scraping tool and a small, round piece of metal on the repair bench caught my eye. I moved my left hand from under the muzzle of my blaster, and picked up the small object. It was a restraining bolt, the kind used to keep 'droids from wandering off.
I looked once more around the room and pulled off my helmet, holding the bolt close to my nose to smell it. There was a strong burnt odor and a loose black powdery residue, indicating it had been removed recently. I slipped my bucket back on and headed toward the surface to show Rogue and the others what I had found.
*
I stepped off the top step, out of the domed doorway into the sand. 4120 stood beside Rogue. Felth, Topolev, and 1265 now formed a line between the small gathering and the Sentinel. Etz had found a woman and brought her out. She stood beside her husband, shivering with fear as the cool morning wind blew over us. Rogue had his blaster trained on Lars and Etz had his blaster leveled at the small of the woman's back.
I walked closer, rolling the restraining bolt over in my hand. I could hear Rogue speaking to them now, ". . . so then, what you're telling me is that you did buy the 'droids, but they never even made it inside your place? You sent them right off to Mos Espa for refitting and refurbishment?"
Owen nodded.
Then Etz spoke up, "Who is Luke? Your wife called out to Luke when I came walking in on her."
The moisture farmer looked flustered for a second, then recovered with his reply, "Luke was a hired hand that we just lost a week or so ago. He worked on the vaporators. That's why I needed the droids, to fill his spot."
Etz was not convinced. "The woman seemed to think he had forgotten something and had come back for it. Doesn't sound like an ex farmhand to me."
The whole situation was beginning to unravel a bit. I looked down at the restraining bolt in my hand and spoke up to the group as Topolev stepped closer, "I found this in their tech dome" tossing the bolt to 0600 who looked it over as I continued. "It's been recently removed from a 'droid, and their oil bath was last calibrated for a bi-pedal protocol model."
Rogue turned to stare Owen in the eyes.
4120 and Topolev looked at each other as the latter spoke up, "We didn't see any 'droids down there except a worn out old power droid and a broken Treadwell."
Rogue turned his attention back to Owen, "I'm going to ask you one last time. Think carefully before you answer. Who is Luke, and where are your 'droids?"
Owen glanced at Beru as she shook in fear, staring back at him. He turned thoughtfully back to Rogue, "You've already decided to kill us haven't you? You can't have any witnesses to what you're searching for. We're too much of a liability, aren't we?"
Beru remained silent. She knew they had to protect Luke, or everything they had worked for over the years would be for nothing. She lunged at the thermal detonator on Topolev's belt, unclipping and activating it, holding it high in the air over her head. All of our blasters leveled at the old woman as Felth and 1265 stepped closer, blasters raised. She shook and trembled, as we backed away from her and the clicking detonator.
She and Owen backed away from us toward the domed entrance to their home. "You can't have Luke, and you won't be killing any of us over a 'droid. It's, it's you who’ll be dying today!"
And, as she moved to throw the detonator at us, 0600, 4120, and I blasted through her forearm at the wrist, severing it from her. The detonator released and dropped at their feet. Owen grabbed his wife as she screamed in pain, and they turned their backs to the device, as we scattered for cover. The concussion of the blast knocked us all into the sand. When we stood and turned to face the grisly sight, there was little left of the moisture farmer and his wife.
The blast had wiped the flesh from their bones, as neatly as you might wipe dirt from your clothing. All that remained were two smoking skeletons lying beside the stairs. Whoever Luke was, he was definitely on his own now.
"Burn it. Burn it all”, said Rogue, “I don't want any traces of our presence here left behind" and he walked away, pulling off his helmet, pushing past us.
Felth and 1265 stood guard as Etz, Topolev, 4120, 0600, and I disappeared down the stairs to set the charges. A short time later we all made our way out of the lower levels and headed for the drop ship.
Suddenly, the ground beneath our boots shook violently as the first of our charges detonated. A large geyser of sand shot skyward over the farm as more explosions followed below the surface. Smoke billowed from the open pit, and out of the the roof of the tech dome and the other surface structures as the living quarters beneath were consumed in fire.
Our job here was finished.
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 12:55:31 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 10 – A Wretched Hive (Part 1 of 3)
Blade and Ddraig had moved Windy, Deak, and Camie out of the office to the backside of the Power Station. They sat and waited on rocks in the shade, leaning against the exterior wall as the other troopers completed their search inside.
Camie’s fear was gone now, replaced with amusement about the invasion. She sat apart from the others, nearly laughing when she looked up at Ddraig. “You won’t find anything. Fixer doesn’t have anything that belongs to you, and if the ‘droid he bought has something of yours, take it and leave us alone.”
Ddraig grinned beneath his helmet as he leaned over to Blade, “She’s a feisty one.”
Falker stepped around the corner, “Bring ‘em in inside. Danz just finished scanning the ‘droid and there’s nothing here. Tyrell says we’re heading back to the city.”
Camie stood up with Deak and Windy, looking over to Ddraig and Blade, “See. I told you.”
* * *
Above the spaceport of Mos Eisley, a battered Corellian YT-1300 hovered on her repulsor-field until the harbormaster granted clearance to land. With approval given, Chewbacca centered the ‘Falcon over the open pit below and gently lowered her down into docking bay 94.
Chewie began refreshing the ‘nav computer files as Solo shut down the engines and stood up to leave the cockpit. A dangling pair of metallic chance cubes on a chain, hanging from the overhead instruments, struck him squarely on the forehead.
“Chewie, Take these things down, will ya?” he blurted, turning and stepping into the corridor outside. Images of Qi’ra, and a life left behind, briefly flashed through his mind as he rubbed his head.
However crazy it was, Chewie believed those chance cubes brought them luck. Unfortunately, they also brought painful memories for his friend.
* * *
We had been cruising toward Mos Eisley in silence for some time when Rogue unbuckled and stood up, stepping across the aisle, “I just heard from Tyrell.”
He sat back down in the jump seat between 0600 and me. “They finished their investigation of the machinist ‘droid that was sold there. The manager at Toshi Station said he just bought the ‘droid yesterday and paid in full with Imperial credits, so they’re wrapping things up in Anchorhead.”
Rogue flipped on his holonet field pack and showed us an image of the Anchorhead site as he spoke. Felth and Topolev leaned in to see.
“The mechanic, his girlfriend and several local kids were hanging out in the station when our troops arrived. The ‘droid in question was fully scanned, but our missing data wasn’t found. Tyrell and our troops tore the shop apart, looking for it, but found nothing. All of the shop occupants were questioned thoroughly. The owner and his friends seemed surprised when the Lars' place was mentioned. They said the old guy was a bitter old tightwad, and hadn't bought anything from the Jawas in several seasons.
The mechanic, Fixer, said that Wormie had to work constantly to keep the old, broken-down 'droids and 'vaporators on the Lars place running. He also said Wormie was overdue to pick up some refurbished power converters he had stripped off several wrecked Landspeeders. After further questioning, it came out that Wormie was a nickname for Lars' nephew, Luke. I told him that checked out with what we found at the Lars place.”
He paused a moment, taking a breath. “We have to keep that missing data from making it off-world, and I think the missing nephew, Luke, is the key".
We all nodded in agreement. Rogue stood and keyed on his comlink as he moved back to his original seat, calling our snitch to alert him.
“So Luke is the nephew, not a farmhand” said Etz.
0600 went back to cleaning his rifle. I leaned my head back on the vibrating bulkhead and thought, if I were a young farmboy and wanted to make it off-world with two 'droids, I would be looking for a ship and a pilot. I would have to be looking in Mos Eisley. According to Rogue, as sparsely populated as Tatooine is, there’s no other major spaceport to be found. We were going to need strategic roadblocks and patrols monitoring the spaceport docking pits closely, and we’d need it quickly. That was the only way we would have a chance at locating the missing boy before he slipped away with information so sensitive that it unnerved even Lord Vader.
What the hell kind of information was that 'droid carrying?
*
We marched through the streets of Mos Eisley in the mid-day sun as I went over and over the events of the busy morning. The flight back from the moisture farm had been a quiet one. Nobody had spoken of what had happened. The 104th Moisture Farm Patrol, or MFP, had been assembled from troops posted all over the known galaxy and sent here to enforce Imperial law without the backing of the Empire or the Legion, and keep the peace among the low-life 'citizens' so the moisture farmers could bring in their harvests without fear.
It was the farmer’s jobs to keep the planet supplied with water, so the Empire could maintain a connection to the low-life, should certain “services” be needed. It was a sick cycle. Keep the scum in check, cultivate it and allow it to grow until it served your purpose.
A ragged, weathered old man sitting in the sand with his back resting against a wall looked up at us as we passed. He wore tattered wraps with a layer of loose fabric covering his mouth and nose; flight goggles protecting his eyes. He reached out a hand, begging for money or food. His left forearm was covered in tattoos of shapes and starships that disappeared up under the loose sleeves of his garment.
No one else seemed to notice him as we kept moving.
This morning at the Lars place had been an exercise in how things shouldn't go. Not one of us could have predicted the old woman’s fear and anxiety, her lunge for the detonator, or her horrific death protecting “Luke”.
Our arrival on-planet occurred in the dead center of something far larger than stolen intelligence recordings. I could feel it, deep down in my core; there were forces at play here that went far beyond the scope of missing ‘droids and stolen data. I tried to put it out of my mind as our formation came to a stop. We were at a corner. The main road heading into the heart of the city lay ahead, and the spaceport was a hard right.
Captain Tyrell turned to Rogue, "We’re going to set up roadblocks. My men and I will operate a checkpoint here and stop everyone entering the city center. There will be others on some of the side streets closer to the spaceport. You take your men and begin a door-to-door search for our missing farmboy and his 'droid. We must keep them from slipping by."
Rogue reacted, “I agree with the roadblocks, but I was going to have our troops in the foot corridors leading to the spaceport. We have a local snitch who suggested that we position ourselves there to be most effective. I don’t think a door to door search would prove to be . . .”
Tyrell ripped off his helmet and spun back to Rogue, stepping in close to our CO, “Let me make one thing painfully clear to you. I’m not impressed with your group of outcasts and the dirty gear you don’t bother to clean. Yes, I know where most of you have been called in from, and I have never understood the Sandtrooper mentality. You can bet after my troops return to the Devastator, they’ll be cleaning their gear before returning to their normal assignments.”
His nostrils flared as he took a step closer to Rogue, “I am in command of this search and recovery mission, and report directly to Lord Vader. We don’t need to drag the local scum into this. At least I speak for MY troops when I say we don’t need any local help. I’m keeping the troops from your unit to help staff my roadblocks. Felth, you fall in with my group too. Get on with your assignment, 1009.”
Rogue slowly nodded once, his dislike for Tyrell growing exponentially. He wished this encounter had occurred in one of the dark mineshafts on Kessel where no one would have heard the screams, and the good Captain would have disappeared without a trace. “Yes sir.”
Tyrell and several of his men moved to the opposite corner of the street and stopped a merchant with an aging Treadwell 'droid. Rogue gave a nod Danz, Blade, Ddraig, Taka, Falker, and Felth to go with them. The rest of us continued on to the next side street and began inspections of the shops and residences we found. We searched one quickly and moved along to the next.
*
We were on a roof in the scorching heat, having just completed a sweep of the building. We broke formation to catch our breath and sip some distilled water from our packs.
Rogue, disgusted, pulled off his helmet as he took out his comlink and called out to our snitch, Garindan. There was a crackle of silence for a moment or two, and then the reply, "I am your eyes and ears, sir, what can I do for you?"
Our CO thought for a second and then spoke into the tiny comlink microphone, "The Captain has ordered us to perform a door-to-door search. We won’t be able to patrol the spaceport as we discussed. I need you to position yourself in that general area and inform me if you see any new faces, or anyone that appears out of place. The boy we’re searching for will be accompanied by a 'droid or two; definitely a bi-pedal protocol model, and possibly an astromech model. He’ll be looking for passage off-world."
"As you wish, sir" came the reply. Rogue clipped the comlink back on his belt and pulled his helmet back on as we left to continue our sweeps.
*
Two Jawas led an immense Ronto through the busy sandy street as a battered old landspeeder came around a turn and into view. Tyrell held a hand up, motioning for the young male driver to come to a stop. Davin Felth moved to the rear of the speeder and the captain stepped up to the driver as he eyed the two stowed ‘droids riding in the back; a gold protocol ‘droid and a blue astromech.
“How long have you had these ‘droids?”
The boy responded, “’Bout three or four seasons.”
The old man sitting beside him turned to face Tyrell and chimed in now, “They’re up for sale, if you want them.”
Tyrell, completely wrapped up in his self-importance, continued, pressing the occupants for more information, “Let me see your identification”.
The old man leaned in closer, across the cockpit, now staring intently at the captain and making a small circle with his fingers as he spoke, “You don’t need to see his identification”.
Tyrell seemed dazed for a moment, and then he slowly and deliberately repeated the old man’s words, “We don’t need to see his identification”.
The cloaked and hooded old man spoke again, “These aren’t the ‘droids you’re looking for”.
As if drugged, Tyrell looked up and spoke to the other troops in his command, “These aren’t the ‘droids we’re looking for.”
Playing a mental game, and manipulating the feeble-minded captain, the old man spoke again, “He can go about his business . . .”
We couldn't believe what we were hearing. The old man was not only sidestepping Tyrell's questions, he was telling him what to say! Felth stared in complete disbelief as again Tyrell echoed the old man, "You can go about your business."
As if now finished with the minor annoyance of Captain Tyrell, the old man spoke once more, looking away down the street, expecting to be forgotten within several moments, "Move along."
Again, the dazed Captain Tyrell echoed his words, wrapping up the encounter and sending the speeder on its way, "Move along . . . MOVE ALONG.”
They boy complied, and the well-worn speeder pulled away, heading deeper into the city. The troopers of the MFP stared at each other in disbelief. TD-8733, Danz, was the first to break the long silence and speak, “What are you doing?!? Why would you let them go? They’re the strongest match to the profile so far, and you just let them ride away without so much as a second glance, much less a questioning.”
Tyrell rubbed his forehead, replying indignantly, "What are you talking about? I didn't do any such thing."
The MFP troopers glanced at each other in disbelief as Tyrell moved to stop the next vehicle. The old man, the boy and the two 'droids had now disappeared into the city.
*
Chalmun’s Mos Eisley Cantina was situated near the heart of the marketplace, and only a short walk from the spaceport. When the current proprietor, Chalmun the Wookiee, took ownership, there were Imperial Troopers from the old squad crawling all over the place. It seems that the previous owners, the Vriichon brothers, had been running an illegal spice den from the site. For some time had been burying the bodies of those who got in their way down in the basement. The frenzy surrounding the arrests and the scandal eventually died down, and Chalmun had completely renovated the place in an effort to help people forget.
Since then, the cantina had always been considered to be the place in Mos Eisley to hire or be hired, for pretty much anything one might be interested in. It was a shadowy, cool oasis from the relentless heat of the desert, and a haven for locals and pilot regulars with downtime to burn while in port.
The worn, brown landspeeder that Tyrell had mysteriously allowed to pass into the city skimmed down the street and floated to a stop adjacent to the front entrance of the cantina.
The old man and the boy climbed out as the protocol biped lowered the squat body of the astromech unit to the ground. The two ‘droids fell in behind them as they headed inside.
In the dim space beyond the steps down, the Bith band was pumping out their rhythmic sound over the low roar of dozens of conversations, filling the smoky bar with an upbeat ambience.
The old man knew the cantina well, having frequented numerous times over the years. He slipped into the crowd, heading for the bar.
Wuher the bartender barked at Luke as he entered.
“Hey! We don’t serve their kind here.”
Luke was unsure what he meant, “What?”
“Your ‘droids. They’ll have to wait outside, we don’t want them here”, Wuher instructed.
The kid immediately addressed the issue with the gold protocol ‘droid, sending it and the astromech back out to the speeder. Turning, the boy stepped down into the main room and approached the bar. Wuher felt a tugging at his shirt, and turned around to face the young man, who asked for a drink.
Without changing his vacant, gruff gaze, he filled and served the drink order without a word. Then he moved away, leaving the boy standing with his drink beside the Aqualish regular, Ponda Baba, and his companion, Dr. Evazon, a human with a horribly disfigured face.
Garindan, our informant from the planet Kubaz, sipped cool water and sat at a table watching the room as the new arrivals settled into the smoky den. He knew that anyone looking to get off-world quickly would most likely come here to hire the ride. His sensitive eyes rolled left and right beneath his protective goggles. He watched as the boy took a sip of his drink. The old man that came in with him was now talking to a pilot at the bar with his back to the kid. Dr. Evazon tapped the boy on the shoulder, and started a conversation. The boy wanted to be left alone and didn’t seem interested in talking, but Evazon persisted.
Garindan swept his eyes over the bar, settling on Mamaw Nadon, the Ithorian hammerhead in one of the rear booths with the bar fly locals Muftak and Kabe. His eyes darted back to the boy as the old man turned and took control of the conversation with Evazon.
The good doctor howled, shoving the boy out of the way as he drew his blaster and stepped toward the old man. The kid fell backwards, crashing into a table, and knocking it over in a spray of spilled drinks and gaming chips.
The band stopped playing, and all eyes were on the scene at the bar.
Wuher yelled, “No Blasters! No Blasters!” and dove behind the bar away from the two.
Evazon squeezed off a shot which was somehow deflected. Suddenly the dim light of the room was shattered as a meter-long shaft of blue energy sprang from a grip in the old man’s hand. The shimmering, humming blade flicked down and up in a quick series of precise, controlled strokes, severing Evazon’s hand and the arm of Ponda Baba as he rushed in to help his friend.
They both collapsed, moaning on the floor, leaving the old man standing alone at the bar. He held the blade defensively before his face as his eyes swept over the room, giving a momentary glimpse of the warrior knight he once was.
He extinguished the blade, returning the handle to a clip on his belt and moved to help the boy up from the ground. Wuher gave the band a glare, and they began playing again, as if nothing had happened. An intrigued Garindan took another sip of his water as the old man and the boy followed a towering Wookiee to an alcove table in the back of the bar.
The Kubaz spy stopped a human patron passing his table, handed him a few credits and sent him out the front door of the bar. He watched him leave, then turned to keep an eye on the aging warrior, the boy, the Wookiee and the Corellian pilot with the red blood stripe on the legs of his trousers.
*
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 13:00:17 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 10 – A Wretched Hive (Part 2 of 3)
Outside, the bar patron counted the credits as he walked over and approached us, gesturing back toward the cantina. “Hey! There’s been a scuffle inside there. The hermit just took out two guys at the bar with a lightsaber! Crazy Jedi wannabe.”
Across the street, the farmboy’s ‘droids watched from their position beside the battered, brown ‘speeder.
*
A few moments later, Etz and I walked through the front door of the cantina, rifles at the ready. We stepped down into the main room, pushing past several regulars lounging on the steps. As we approached the bar, the crowd parted.
“We heard there was a disturbance in here”, Etz said to Wuher, the bartender.
The barkeep gestured to the back of the room, pointing to the old man.
Through the haze I saw his brown robes and white hair, and the boy seated beside him, “Alright, we’ll check it out.”
We cautiously walked around the end of the bar, eyeing the scum clientele on all sides, stepped over both dismembered arms on the floor, and moved toward a small recessed booth in the rear of the room.
The pilot I remembered from our first day at the docking bay sat there with his Wookiee companion, alone now. No old man, no kid. I led the way past the table, Etz followed, stopping momentarily to lock eyes with the cocky Corellian pilot and the Wookiee.
We worked our way past them and continued on toward the rear door with no sign of the other two. We exited to the street outside.
I looked both directions, but they were nowhere in sight. “I don’t like this. We’re really close, and I think they just hired a pilot. C’mon, let’s go let Rogue and the others know what we found. No comlinks. I don’t want Tyrell to know.”
* * *
It was now well past mid-day and troopers at all the checkpoints were growing restless. The growing crowds on the streets above the marketplace made our search efforts increasingly difficult.
As the others continued with their interrogations, TK-1138 (one of Tyrell’s men) meandered away from his post, down a series of steps into the partial shade of the area surrounding the central marketplace. He quickly made the rounds, looking into the shops as he passed by. Satisfied with his quick look around, and the short break from the direct sun, he turned to head back when he saw a young man, an old man, and two ‘droids; one bi-pedal protocol and an astromech coming toward him.
They stopped dead in their tracks as his gaze moved from the ‘droids back to the humans and he locked eyes with the smiling old man.
* * *
The sudden static burst broadcast over our comm channels was almost deafening. I quickly dialed down the volume as my helmet display showed that it was originating on a frequency from one of the Devastator’s troopers, TK-1138. Rogue clicked on his chin mic and paged the trooper. When he got no response, our little group double-timed it through the streets, following the signal source indicator. We made our way down several flights of stairs that led through a terraced marketplace.
There were twisting corridors and alleys lined with citizens and merchants. We passed a small ‘droid sale lot and a used speeder lot as we wormed our way through the crowd following the locator signal; the beacon indicated we were almost on top of it.
Suddenly Rogue stopped dead in his tracks. 4120 and I almost colliding with him from the abruptness. He turned and backtracked several steps, peering down a side alley.
There, a few steps into the shadows, in the center of the path was the source of the comm static. The missing trooper was lying face down, neatly cut in half. To one side of the path lay his torso, his lower body and legs to the other side, the wound cauterized, and his armor melted from some great heat. His helmet had been thrown loose as he hit the ground and had rolled up against one of the stone walls.
His E-11 blaster had been sliced down the center from front to rear. A hand and several fingers lay beside it in the sand. We all stared in disbelief for a heartbeat, then jerked our eyes upward, scanning the rooftops and alleyways to see if we could catch a glimpse of someone that might have committed this crime, or someone who might have seen who did. There was no one.
We spread out to search as Rogue knelt down and picked the helmet up from the dirt. He pulled his own off, setting it aside, and reached inside TK-1138's helmet, flipping a tiny switch. The information display screen inside flickered with static for a moment, and then Rogue was able to see what 1138 had seen in his last moments. A few alleys, some stairs, a used 'droid lot, a speeder salesman, a few citizens and a rickety looking C1 ‘droid scurrying to get out of his way. He stopped walking, turned to the left and looked down an alley, then turned back to check the other direction.
The silent image flickered on the tiny screen inside the dead trooper's helmet. It showed him turning around to go back up the stairs. Then, in the middle of the frame, was an old man in a hooded robe. A young man and two droids were behind him. The old man smiled as he raised an empty hand from beneath his cloak to wave, but instead, thrust his palm out forcefully toward the camera as his stance lowered and centered, feet planted wide.
The trooper was thrown into the air, back several paces across the alley into a wall. A flash of white light blipped across the screen from the jarring impact to the camera, and then the image returned, white levels recalibrating as its' owner fell to the ground.
1138 rolled and stood up quickly, the dirt of the ground rushing across the little screen. He looked up at a wall as he regained his feet and whirled around toward his attacker, E-11 drawn and held out in the lower portion of the video frame. An energy bolt flew from the barrel of the blaster toward the old man's head.
In a blur of motion, a blue energy blade flicked up and into the path of the red bolt. There was a flash as the shot collided with and ricocheted off the shimmering blade, inches from the old man's head. The protocol ‘droid shrank in fear, and the boy stared in disbelief. The trooper involuntarily glanced to follow the blocked bolt.
Rogue's brow furrowed with concern as he continued to watch the recording.
1138 looked back to the man in brown just as a sweeping arc of blue energy flashed down through the blaster in his hands, splitting it in two, taking off his fingers that were wrapped beneath the muzzle and the hand holding the grip as well. He looked at his severed fingers on the left hand and the smoking wrist-stump on his right arm, then looked up as the blue blade blurred once again, slicing through the air and down toward his waist. The recorded image rolled and wobbled as the trooper fell to the ground, and his helmet was knocked off and came to rest in the sand, looking down the alleyway at the old man, boy, and ‘droids hurrying away.
Rogue switched off the recording and looked back over to the two sections of 1138's body and the assorted hand parts. A Jedi, here? He thought they had been exterminated long ago. His mind reeled with all the possible implications stemming from this discovery. He pulled his own helmet back on and clicked the comm with his chin, “All members of the MFP, report to the main corridor leading to the plaza in the lower marketplace immediately.”
Then he keyed his comlink paged Garindan.
*
All of our men heard the message over their comm sets, turned to look at each other and took off running down the main street toward the plaza. Tyrell yelled at the top of his lungs for them to stop, spewing various threats about what happens to troopers who desert their posts.
They never looked back.
*
Rogue, 0600, 4120, 1265, Etz, and I were waiting in the open plaza next to the used speeder lot when Danz, Falker, Taka, Ddraig, and Blade appeared out of one of the hallways.
0600 waved them over as he spoke to Rogue, “The guy running the speeder lot says he just bought this brown, junker landspeeder from a young kid and an old man. He didn’t see any ‘droids, but the description he gave fits the two we’re looking for. These two are very dangerous.”
1265 laughed, turning to Danz, “Sounds dangerous to me.”
0600 grabbed him by the arm, “The old man took out 1138 and left pieces of him scattered all over the alley over there if you have any doubts.”
The laughter stopped immediately.
A modified VCX-100 light freighter lifted up from one of the bays and climbed into the sky overhead as Rogue stepped forward. “The snitch doesn’t have anything yet, but he’s working on it. Move through the corridor leading to the docking bays. If they’ve bothered to come this far dragging two ‘droids, they’ll be trying to leave on a ship from one of those bays. We need to be nearby and ready, I don’t care what Tyrell says.”
As he said this Tyrell stepped off the bottom step from the streets above and walked over to us. "You and your men are all going to find yourself in the brig for deserting your posts and . . . "
Rogue interrupted him, “I’ve had enough of you. 1138 is dead. An old man traveling with the farmboy left him in several pieces down that alley.”
Tyrell had no memory of the old man and young kid from the street.
“Your roadblocks aren’t doing the job, Tyrell, they’re already here! And I don’t care if you DO report directly to Lord Vader, this city is now OUR jurisdiction and you are a guest in it. We’re officially operating outside the Empire. I suggest you remember that, Captain, or you might find yourself the victim of an unfortunate accident.”
Danz moved closer to Rogue, “You said it was an old man and a kid. Was the old guy wearing a hood?”
Rogue nodded.
Danz turned to Tyrell as he pulled off his bucket, “The Captain here stopped them out on the road earlier today. He was asking for the kid’s identification and then the old man spoke up saying we didn’t need to see it. Tyrell kept repeating everything the old guy said and then told them they could go about their business, and let them go!”
Tyrell glared at Danz, “I did not! We never stopped an old man and a boy!”
The rest of the roadblock crew pulled off their buckets, “Yes you did, you don’t remember? You let the guy talk back to you and then LET HIM GO! How can you not remember?”
Rogue pulled off his helmet and glanced over to 0600 and me, “Based on what I saw on 1138’s holo-recorder, as incredible as it seems, I would say it was a Jedi mind trick.” I slowly nodded thoughtfully in agreement.
Tyrell spewed, “Jedi mind trick? The Jedi are extinct!” and pushed his way through us to find his troops, “Lord Vader will not find this little joke amusing.”
Rogue held up the dead troopers’ bucket and played the holo recording again for the others to see firsthand what had happened. As it ended, the others looked back at the broken body of 1138.
Rogue’s comlink crackled on his belt, “I have something for you, sir.” Garindan was a people-watcher, a silent observer from the shadows, that’s what he did, and he had been busy watching.
Rogue unclipped the mic “Yes, what do you have?”
The electronic voice squawked back, “They’re on their way to one of the docking bays. Meet me in the main hallway. I am at bay 85.” Then the line went dead.
I had been standing close enough to hear the exchange. “The Wook and the Corellian” I whispered quietly as I glanced over at 0600.
Garindan's message had given us a target. We all pulled on our helmets and hurried down the hallway toward the spaceport and the docking bays.
*
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 13:02:53 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 10 – A Wretched Hive (Part 3 of 3)
Tyrell had re-grouped his men and had them patrolling the street just outside the docking bays, watching for ‘droids. Davin Felth was turned away from them, listening to something on his comm, something that sounded important. He thought about sharing the information with Tyrell, then thought better of it, and slipped away from the main group heading toward the docking bays. Tyrell saw him leaving, and followed.
*
0600 looked up as Felth joined us. He caught up to us as we headed through the narrow alley. "I've been monitoring your frequency since Tyrell let the old man and the kid go. I don't trust him; haven't since I got transferred to his division. I figure you know more about what's going on here than he does."
As he fell in with our formation, several others from Tyrell's group appeared as well, weapons on and ready. They wanted a blood payment for 1138's death.
We all marched through the city with a purpose now, people scurrying to move out of our way as we struck an imposing image bearing down on them. Captain Tyrell followed a few moments later.
We came around a corner to find Garindan leaning against one of the shadowy walls. Rogue stepped up to him, “Which way?”
Garindan squawked “Bay 94!”
Rogue turned to us, “Alright men, load your weapons.”
Felth sprinted to the front of the pack, hurrying past Rogue as we headed toward bay 94. He must really feel the need to prove himself to someone, I thought, as we marched; maybe it was to himself.
I thought sure we would have been heading back to bay 85, to that battered YT-1300 freighter, the Corellian and the Wookiee. I had a very bad feeling about this. It was all wrong. I know that old man and the kid talked to the Wook in the bar, unless they had been passed off to another ship?
We all hurried down the dark, narrow steps toward the bay. I could hear sand grinding beneath our boots on the stone stairs, and the high pitch of our blaster power cells cycling up toward full and ready.
Felth and Rogue spilled out into the dim recesses of the entry to the bay. The freighter from bay 85 was in here now. Etz and I had been right!
I could see the Wookiee in the cockpit removing something that was hung from the overhead instruments. The Corellian human was uncoupling fueling lines and closing the access hatch when Rogue gave his order, “Stop that ship . . . blast ‘em.”
As he spoke, time seemed to slow and barely move at all. The Corellian pilot’s eyes grew wide as Felth and Rogue fired on him, narrowly missing.
With a lightning-quick reflex, he drew his thigh-holstered blaster and returned their fire. Taka shoved Rogue forward to the sandy floor, saving him, as the wall above them both exploded, blowing a fueling line wildly through the air. It slammed into Taka’s back and burst out through his chest, spraying blood across his white armor and the sandy floor.
Topolev and Danz ran to find cover behind some supply crates. Rogue dove into a tucked roll and came up firing.
Tyrell’s men pushed ahead of us, wanting revenge for the death of TK-1138. Several were cut down by the wild blaster fire of the cornered Corellian. Etz, 0600, Ddraig, 4120, Blade and I poured into the open space along with them.
Tyrell raced off the steps behind us and opened fire as well.
Several energy bolts flew past us, Etz whirled away just in time, falling to the ground, as 4120 and I ducked behind the cover of the stone walls. We were no good to the Empire dead. There was a flash of light as another violent volley of blaster fire was exchanged between the Corellian and both Felth and Tyrell. Somewhere during the altercation, Tyrell was hit and went down.
1265 grabbed Taka’s arm and dragged his body back to the bottom of the steps as Ddraig covered him, firing on the fleeing Corellian pilot who quickly retreated up the entry ramp into his ship, firing back at us as he ran.
The ship’s inner airlock door slammed down and sealed as the boarding ramp was hoisted and locked, sealing the ship. I glanced up at the cockpit again as we charged forward, firing at the hull. The Wookiee was working furiously to get the ship ready to lift off, as his human companion burst into the seat beside him. The deafening drone of the customized engines drowned out every other sound as they energized. All energy moorings fell away from the freighter, and her shields came online, absorbing our blaster fire.
The invisible push of the ships’ anti-grav repulsor field thrust down hard on the floor of the bay, slamming into our chests and throwing us all back several steps as suddenly the ship unceremoniously and unsteadily rose up over the edge of the docking bay pit.
She pivoted sharply and her main engines fired as soon as her front mandibles cleared the rim, in direct violation of the surface-proximity replusorlift restrictions set by the spaceport authority.
Alarm claxons were now blaring as I fired one last shot toward the ship that was tearing away in an upward arc over the city and heading rapidly for the stars. All we could do was watch it go. Falker was trying to reach the port master for information on the escaping ship. Danz cursed and blasted one of the scurrying pit ‘droids in frustration. I pulled off my helmet and rubbed my throbbing forehead, then raised my blaster and destroyed the wailing alarm claxon on the wall above us.
Rogue and 0600 moved past Ddraig and 1265 at the base of the steps where Taka was.
*
On the streets above, Tyrell’s men whirled from their checkpoint duties in time to watch a beat-up Corellian stock light freighter blast its way out of the docking bays below and climb rapidly out of sight into the cloudless, pale-blue Tatooine afternoon sky.
*
Rogue watched the ‘Falcon racing skyward. Tyrell, lying face up in the sand also saw the escape. He closed his eyes. Through the pain he slowly realized that he had most likely allowed the data he was searching for to slip from almost within his grasp, to well beyond his reach.
Rogue ripped off his helmet and knelt beside the injured Captain, his furious voice spewing, “They’re gone, Tyrell! They just ripped out of here and headed offworld. Three of your men are dead and so is Taka. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Your checkpoints didn’t work exactly as you planned, did they sir?” With that he stood up and went to see about Taka.
As Rogue finished, Tyrell lifted his bucket to his face and clicked his chin-activated comm switch, hailing the command deck on one of the Star Destroyers blockading far above. “Tyrant, come in Tyrant, this is Captain Tyrell.” His comm crackled a moment before a response came.
“Captain Tyrell, this is the Conquest. Tyrant is resetting their communications grid. What can we do for you?”
Tyrell grimaced in pain as he continued, the helmet shaking in his hands “Conquest, the package we have been searching for is on a freighter heading your way.”
Under the intense heat of the Tatooine suns he felt a cold sweat trickling off the top of his head. “I need a clear channel to the Death Star. Put me through to Lord Vader.”
A moment of silence passed, then the communications officer responded, “I'm sorry sir, he’s on his way to a meeting with the Grand Moff Tarkin and a prisoner at the moment, but I assure you, I will have him speak to you as soon as he is free.”
* * *
The Death Star communications officer switched off the comm, silencing the gurgling, gasping sounds of a dying Captain Tyrell lying on the sandy floor of docking bay 94 in Mos Eisley. After wrapping up his conversation, the dark form of Darth Vader stood motionless, fist clutched tight, deep in thought. He was rolling over in his mind what the inept Tyrell had just said with his dying breath, something about a surviving Jedi.
He turned to the communications officer again, “I want the helmet recording showing the fugitives the moment it arrives.” He turned and exited the room, heading deeper into the heart of the station, toward his private chambers as currents of anger radiated away from him, rippling through the Force.
In this remote, inner area of the battle station most of the corridors were empty. His footsteps echoed as he walked, and the fallen Jedi beneath the black mask thought back over the years to the first time he had ever used the Force to choke someone, accidentally killing his beloved Padme for siding against him with Obi-Wan.
He remembered how it felt to be the new apprentice to his Sith Master. He had been dubbed Darth Vader, and was to become the proud Lord of his new Empire. The dark side coursed through him so freely then, so savagely uncontrolled.
In his rage, he had destroyed the one he loved. He had given himself over to the teachings of Darth Sidious in the hopes of keeping her alive, to alter the shadowy future he had foreseen for her in a premonition of her death. Somewhere along the way in his lust for more and more power, he destroyed all for which he had fought and suffered.
He entered a security code and the blast doors to his chambers slid open. As he stepped inside, they quickly snapped shut and locked behind him. It was a dark, cold place, as cold as the dark knight’s heart. Situated on the far side of the room sat his pressurized meditation chamber. The top half of the octagonal sphere was raised, the external steps lowered for his entry. He silently ascended them and settled into the cushioned seat in the center. He sat silent for a moment, replaying events from long ago in his mind.
He remembered standing face to face with General Grievous, staring into his own dark future, living as half man and half machine. He remembered an exhilarating and draining lightsaber confrontation with his former master and friend, Obi-Wan. He remembered attempting to gain a better position from which to end his master’s life, and the instant the searing energy blade lopped off both his legs and his last remaining human arm, dropping him into the scorched obsidian and ash on the banks of the Mustafar lava flow.
He had reached out with every ounce of hate, still trying to fight, as he slid backwards further and further with each attempt to crawl back to face his master. He painfully remembered the intense heat as his clothing and hair had burned from his body, severely charring and blistering his skin and disfiguring his face, and what remained of his body.
He touched a small switch in the armrest beside him and the top half of the black sphere lowered, sealing him inside. The hissing of the pressurized airflow ceased, and a mechanical armature lowered from above him, clasping around the polished, black dome of his helmet. It tripped a magnetic release mechanism inside the helmet, and raised back out of the way, taking the dome with it. Vader then manually released a lock on either side of his head.
There was a hiss of escaping air as he rocked the facemask forward, separating it at the jawline, pivoting forward on pins near the twin silver tusks at the corners of the “mouth”. Once clear of his head, he lifted the mask off the pins and set it aside on the ledge that ran around the inside of the chamber.
He remembered very little of his flight back to Coruscant in the medical pod.
He tried very hard to forget the work the MU ‘droids had done to him, the pain had been excruciating.
Then they sealed him inside this helmet, and much of the laborious effort to breathe had been removed.
He was raised to face his new master, only to learn that in his rage, he had killed his beloved Padme. He closed his eyes in that agonizing moment, fighting back the pain of his loss. It was then that Sidious had told him that not only was the bio-regenerating suit and breath mask keeping his body protected, but his twisted manipulation of the dark side of the Force on his apprentice’s behalf was also keeping him alive. Without that, the suit would fail him and he would die.
So long as Sidious was able to convince Vader that this lie was true, he never had to fear that one day his power might be in jeopardy; that he might be murdered in his sleep by his apprentice, the way he had murdered his own master so many years before. With the secret that Sidious kept, the tragedy surrounding the death of Anakin Skywalker and the birth of Darth Vader was complete and fierce. The very reason Anakin had fallen to the dark side, was now dead and gone, and he was a once again a slave, at the mercy of his dark master. His pain had come full circle.
He drew in a deep breath, eyes closed as he thought more about what had transpired on Tatooine.
Tatooine.
He wondered why Bail Organa’s daughter had bothered to go there with the Death Star plans. It held no military significance that he knew of. Once it had been his home, but that was long ago, before his mother’s death.
He opened his eyes slightly, staring off into nothingness as images and emotions from the past surfaced yet again.
He was remembering his mother’s funeral, glancing over at the clear container filled with the Tatooine sand he had scraped from atop her grave so long ago. He missed the comfort she had once given him.
His scarred brow furrowed as he rolled over the events of the past few days. The Death Star plans had been stolen by rebels that had been incinerated on Scarif, but not before they had transmitted the plans up to Senator Organa in orbit above the surface.
Leia Organa had been cool enough under fire to send the plans off with a ‘droid. The jettisoned astromech had made it to the surface of Tatooine and managed, several days later, with the help of someone or something, to smuggle them off-world, but who? Why? And where would they head now? The Dark Lord searched the Force for answers.
A light flashed on the console panel before him. He pressed and held the comm button.
“Lord Vader, the helmet recording has been received and has been forwarded to your chambers, sir.”
Turning to a small screen, he opened the awaiting file and began watching the images. He saw routine traffic stops and the inspections of several ‘droids. Then, the trooper recording the images wandered away from the roadblock down a shady hallway. The hall led to stairs that took the trooper to a lower level of the busy marketplace. As he watched the images of places familiar, Vader could now smell with his memory that which his destroyed nostrils could not, the hot sands and dry winds of his youth.
Then he leaned forward, inspecting the images closer. The trooper had just caught sight of an old man, a boy and two ‘droids. The old man’s face was nearly covered by his deep hood, on a flowing cloak that was all too familiar. The figure raised his hand and the recorded image rolled wildly as the trooper was thrown backward to the ground. The trooper raised his blaster as a sweeping blue flash cut across the screen top to bottom and then side to side, as the old man killed him, with a lightsaber.
As the helmet rolled over in the sand, the camera captured a few seconds of the old man and the boy. The man looked around as he and the others hurried away. As they did, Vader caught sight of something hanging from the boy’s belt; a lightsaber.
The lightsaber his former master had stripped from him so long ago, lifted from the superheated scorched banks of the Mustafar lava flow. The last lightsaber he himself had built as a Jedi.
The anger and hate was swelling in him now.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive, and he had a new apprentice!
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 13:09:50 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 11 – Departure (Part 1 of 3)
Falker paced back and forth across the floor of the open bay pit looking up at the melted metal pipes hanging from the smoking, sooty wall as he finally received the name of the departing ship from the port authority. The top rim of docking bay 94 had been scorched by the main engines of the departing Millennium Falcon. He confirmed with the crews of the Star Destroyers Conquest and Tyrant that the ship in question had run from them and escaped into hyperspace before they could acquire a good fix on the target.
0600 and Rogue carried Taka’s lifeless body out of docking bay 94, leaving the corpses of Tyrell and his troops lying in the sand. They knew there would be an inspection team here soon, but Taka deserved a better fate than to be picked apart in the official investigation process. Ddraig found a cargo repulsor sled in the upper hallway and met them at the top of the stairs. The bloodied, broken body of their brother was gently lowered to its surface. Everyone stood silent for a moment, staring down at what could easily have been any one of them. Without a word, the sled was slowly and reverently moved down the hallway, past a silent Garindan, toward bay 98.
Any thoughts Rogue and 0600 may have had about Taka buying his way out of prosecution for the Belliran V Massacre were now gone. In the darkness of our shuttle flight from Kessel, he said he thought they were dead in the med lab when he was released. Even if he had bargained his way out, he had now sacrificed his life for Rogue, repaying any debt he may have had, real or imagined. Felth walked behind a bit, and seemed to be somewhat preoccupied.
4120 fell back beside him, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just going over what just happened, you know, making sure I did what I should have.”
4120 reassured him, “I’m sure we all did the best we could, given the circumstances. I’m sorry about your friends.”
Felth was going over the firefight in his head, “Oh, they weren’t really my friends. I had just transferred in, and I didn’t know anyone yet except Tyrell, and I couldn’t stand him.” He was glad that no one in the group had seen him shoot his own squad leader in the back during the last exchange with the Corellian. It had been a gut-wrenching decision, made in a millisecond, and one that had absolutely surprised him, but he now felt that the Rebellion was doing the right thing.
In his heart he felt the Empire was wrong, oppressing worlds across the entire expanse of the galaxy. He had worked so hard to locate the missing data and prove himself, and now, he knew he was trapped in that role of dedicated Stormtrooper. The Empire would find him if he deserted and jumped sides, and he knew he could now be of much more value to the rebellion by remaining within the Empire, funneling information to their cause.
This newly assembled unit seemed to be a smart group though. He would need to be vigilant at all times until he was allowed, by the inspection team, to be reassigned.
* * *
The interior lights of the sealed meditation chamber were dimmed to near absolute darkness; its occupant in a deep meditation. The obscure layers of consciousness slipped elusively by as the human brain, of what had once been Anakin Skywalker, fed on the energy attracted by the Midichlorians coursing through what was left of his bloodstream. He felt the warm pulse of his human heart in his upper arms and the trunk of his body. His heavy cybernetic limbs, however, still felt foreign and cold.
At first they had been ungainly and awkward, forcing him to re-learn standing and walking all over again. During those hazy, dark days following his defeat at the hands of his Jedi master, he had worked endless, grueling hours in his private chambers; practicing with one, and building to several seeker remotes and assassin droids to master his new limbs.
His ravaged body and blistered, deformed skin ached and burned beneath his suit and helmet, but not nearly as hot as the hatred that burned in his heart for his former master. He repeated painful motions over and over again, learning the new subtleties of moving through fight stances on his cybernetic legs, and regaining the dexterity and masterful control of his dominant lightsaber hand. He allowed himself to feed off the intense pain, focusing it, channeling it, bringing the Force around him to a constant, controlled boil.
Cloudy thoughts now mingled with the energies of the dark side as Vader lost himself in its inky, warm liquidity seeking answers to questions that had plagued him since discovering Obi-wan still among the living. He allowed himself to slowly drift closer to the light side Force energies than he had since yielding to the Sith teachings of Palpatine, so long ago. He needed to sense others from his lost order in his quest for his former master. Suffering cries of the Jedi he had helped decimate echoed in his ears. He heard the urgent, pleading warning from Qui-gon calling out to him, “Anakin, NOOO!”
In spite of all that could have distracted him, he remained focused, searching for answers, awaiting clues to be revealed to him. He was open to any sense or feeling of a reason why Obi-wan might possibly have been on Tatooine with a new apprentice. Obi-Wan hated Tatooine, and would not have been there willingly.
He remembered the stories told about the damaged, leaking hyperdrive engine forcing that fateful emergency landing, forever entwining his destiny with that of Qui-gon, Obi-Wan and the Queen, his fragile beauty, Padme. He had been concerned that they might have been stuck on the desert planet for a very long time. It made no sense that he would have willingly returned.
Perhaps that was exactly why he did so.
As his meditative trance became more focused, images began appearing in the mind’s eye of the dark Lord. He saw an emerging asteroid field; planetoids tumbling silently. One of them shifted and became master Yoda, tumbling off into a gathering fog.
He calmed himself and became even more centered in the Force. In his vision, there were clouds, rain and mud, with the cries of unseen animals hiding in the shadows of colossal trees draped with vines. Then, as the cloudy haze parted slightly, he saw Obi-Wan holding an infant in his arms and heard a voice call out, “Luke”. It was the shallow, but unmistakable, sweet sound of his wife’s voice.
His heart beat increasingly faster, pounding in his ears now as the images became disjointed, fast-morphing flashes in his mind as he abruptly ascended from his unconscious state too rapidly. He saw Padme lying on a table, speaking to Obi-Wan, then falling silent as the life drained from her face. Her still body transformed into a mound of sand, blowing off the table in a wind across an emerging Tatooine skyline at sunset. A hooded Obi-Wan now stood within the blowing sand with the child, walking into the setting suns.
Then, the blowing sands consumed him and gave way to more careening, colliding asteroids which became two combatants engaged in a furious lightsaber battle. He was fighting someone dressed in black whose movements were aggressive, attacking, and Sith-like. He continued to ascend as intermittent, hazy images surfaced of himself throwing a dark-robed figure over a balcony amid tangled streams of Force-lightning raining down on him, killing him.
Suddenly, he emerged from the trance. His eyes fluttered open wildly in the darkness of the dim meditation chamber, lacking the ability to form tears, but filled with the pain and grief of his loss all over again. His chest heaved and he gasped as his mechanical lungs quickly adjusted, cycling air in and out at twice their normal pace.
* * *
4120 piloted Tyrell’s shuttle out across the sand waves heading toward the heart of the Dune Sea. Captain Tyrell and his men were dead, they wouldn’t be needing it anytime soon. The members of the 104th MFP were seated silently in the jump seats along both side walls.
Taka was the first of them to fall in the line of duty in this new post, and Rogue now prepared him for his final resting place. We all watched as he drained the energy clip, snapped it in the magazine well, and placed Taka’s E-11 in his hands, carefully positioning one hand on the grip, the other under the barrel, laying it across his chest as if he were standing at the ready.
Etz nodded knowingly, “You can have my blaster when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.”
Rogue turned to him, nodding, “Exactly.”
It was a cocky phrase that had been uttered by virtually every trooper, in every session on Carida when sidearms were issued to a new class.
The main engines were cut, and braking thrusters fired as the ship came to a hover over the ridgeline of a large dune. 4120’s hands moved over the controls as he lowered us carefully to the ground. Topolev and Blade opened the rear hatch and extended the boarding ramp as the rest of us unclipped. A warm wind whipped past us as we pushed the sled down to the blowing sand.
The afternoon light was fading fast, bathing us in a dark orange glow as the twin suns sat just above the horizon. 0600 walked away from us, facing the two giant fireballs, then stopped and looked down at his feet, kicking at the sand a bit, “This is a good spot.”
We moved the sled over to him and lifted our dead from it, placing him gently in the sand on his back, blaster held up to his chest, staring up into the stars. We all stepped back a pace and respectfully removed our helmets. Only the sound of the wind gusting past us was heard.
Blowing sand began to collect around Taka’s body, mounding up against it as we watched silently. Rogue spoke, “He gave his life to save mine, this new Sandtrooper. And as a Sandtrooper, we offer up his body to be returned to the sand, to become one with it.”
He knelt down and grabbed up a handful of sand, and tossed it across Taka’s chest, “Pleasant journeys, my friend, pleasant journeys” then turned and walked away silently with his helmet in hand as the wind continued to lash around us.
We all observed a moment of silence, then one by one dropped a handful of sand on Taka’s body. The evening winds were picking up now, drifting even more sand around the one we were leaving behind as we all silently returned to the shuttle. Topolev and I were the last to board, taking a final look back as we ascended the inclined ramp. We had all seen troopers fall in battle, many of them friends. I just didn’t think it would be happening this soon after arriving here.
The white of his Impervium had almost been swallowed entirely by the time we lifted off.
* * *
The veranda of the palace was saturated in an orange glow as Bail Organa stood pensively at the railing. The sun was setting far out on the horizon of his beloved Alderaan.
The devastation at Jedha had been covered up as a mining accident, but his sources told him Jedha City had been explicitly selected for destruction. Although it had been the only precise target of the station’s test exercise, at minimum the entirety of the planet Jedha would be so devastated for the next century to come, that Krennic’s Death Star might as well have destroyed it all at once.
His worried thoughts were of his daughter, and the mission he had hurriedly given her. There had been no communication from the Tantive IV directly in days. The urgent, secret nature of the mission may have required silence in order for successful completion, but he worried for her safety nonetheless.
As the ‘public face’ who secretly championed the cause, her presence on Yavin IV had remained a well-guarded secret. Bail had to keep her safe if access to supplies and intelligence was to remain viable.
She had jumped at the chance to find General Kenobi, and with the Tantive IV already undergoing repairs onboard his warship, Admiral Raddus was the perfect escort to see her safely to him on Tatooine. He was frustrated.
All that fell apart when an intercepted Imperial transmission revealed a covert rebel incursion on Scarif. Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor, and their ‘Rogue One’ team had infiltrated the Imperial vault there stealing the Death Star plans. Jyn’s father Galen Erso had told her of a weakness he had built into the station’s design, a weakness that could be exploited and attacked. If the data transmission from Bria Tharen and the ‘Red Hand’ on Toprawa had successfully completed, none of this would be necessary.
When the news came in, Admiral Raddus deemed it more imminently important that he and his ship join the fight, taking Leia and the Tantive IV with him.
The last news Bail had was that the plans were successfully uploaded to Raddus, and that while under attack, the encoded hard copy of those plans was delivered to a crew member on the Tantive moments before it made a hasty, emergency launch, and escaping.
Leia had to succeed. The plans had to be delivered to Kenobi. He would make sure they were safely delivered and decoded, and he would take care of her, as he had when she was a child. He had to, or all was lost.
Bail’s gaze wandered across the darkening sky, taking in the incredible view. Then he noticed something moving in front of the setting sun. It wasn’t a ship, or anything within the atmosphere. Something of enormous size was moving through the heavens, slipping between Alderaan and her star; eclipsing the setting sun as he watched.
His mind raced. None of the small moons orbiting Alderaan had the size for this, and they were flattened, irregular rocks, more like asteroids. This obstruction was round, perfectly round.
He rushed back to the railing, clenching it tightly as starlight finally broke around the edge of the obstruction, revealing an inset dish in its surface.
His eyes grew wide as the realization of what was about to happen washed over him.
* * *
The bluish-white haze of the afternoon sky had given way to the amber and bronze tones of the early evening, which had now yielded to the suffocating blackness of a moonless Tatooine night. 4120 bypassed the spaceport protocols and set our shuttle down in the open courtyard behind our new barracks. We all rose quietly from our seats and headed for the fresh air outside. I stepped off the bottom of the ramp into the now-cool sand and mentally ran through the events of the day.
Rogue opened the armored rear door of the barracks, and we entered through the storage area, stepping around our supplies still piled high on the repulsor sled. I secured the door after Topolev and Etz came through, and was about to make my way through to the bunkroom out front when I noticed something behind one of the crates. It was a lever on the plates of the armored wall. There were no labels as to its function.
I looked around. No one was hanging back, so I reached over and pulled on the lever. It resisted a bit, but then rocked to one side. As it did, I felt a slight rumbling under my feet and the supply sled began to lower into the floor. The entire recessed center of the room was a lift system that was now lowering to a sub-level. I watched as it slipped out of sight below the floor and came to stop several meters below.
I leaned over the edge to look down as lights flickered through a doorway leading away from the platform below. The others had stopped to watch. I looked back over my shoulder. “Check this out”.
With buckets off, 4120 and Rogue were first through the door to inspect my discovery, closely followed by the others. Topolev whistled as 0600 and Ddraig walked to the edge.
Falker spoke up, “It looks like a supply cache. We used something similar on Talasea while I was there training on their orbital platform.”
Rogue turned to me, “I see another control lever down there. Call it back up. Let’s see what’s down there.”
I nodded. “Sure” and stepped over to the lever, giving it a pull in the opposite direction. The lift rose until it docked once again with our level. Everyone stepped on, crowding around the supply sled. I threw the lever and stepped on as it once again descended.
We came to a stop on the lower level, and the open doorway ahead revealed a dark room with a flickering, malfunctioning luminary. We all stepped through the door into the relative darkness of the next room. The air here was stale and the only working luminary hung flickering from a wiring harness, twisting and swinging as we moved past it, sending sporadic, rocking shadows across the room and up the walls.
It was very hard to make out what was here with the moving light strobing as it was. There were more supply crates, several items draped in large canvas tarps, and large bay doors on the opposing wall.
Etz was looking under the edge of one of the tarps when Blade stepped up from the other side and pulled it off. Dust swirled up in a cloud, hanging in the still air. In the dim light we could see several tripod-mounted EWHB-10 cannons.
Etz grabbed the next tarp and pulled it off as Danz and Topolev pulled off the remaining two.
By now we were all coughing as the air was thick with very fine dust particles. I noticed the outline of a deactivated astromech droid squeezed between the cannons, and moved in for a closer look. Topolev ran his gloved hand over a full rack of what appeared to be hundreds of transparent holo-cards.
He pulled one out and leaned toward the swinging light, gently wiping the years of dust away. “Jabba’s Court – 22413”. He reached over and pulled out several more. The labeling was the same, but with ascending numbers. “I’m not sure, but I think these may be surveillance recordings of The Hutt’s Palace.” He handed the cards to Rogue as the others moved further into the darkness checking out what else had been waiting silently in the shadows.
Rogue held them up and looked over to the full rack of similar cards, “These may prove very helpful. What else is back there?”
Danz and Etz walked between racks of weapons. Each of them lifted out a rifle, turning them over, examining what appeared to be DC-15S blasters and DC-15A rifles as 4120 and Falker broke the seal and lifted the lid on a container resting against the stone wall.
As Rogue continued looking over the card with 0600, I pulled the astromech from its tight squeeze between the cannons and knelt down to look it over. It was a little the worse for the wear. Several panels were missing and a blackened wiring harness protruded from its’ side, but the damage didn’t appear to be anything some repair work couldn’t take care of. A few parts and a refreshing of its internal power cells, and we might have ourselves a working maintenance droid.
As he inspected the rack of cards closer, the comm unit on Rogue’s belt chirped an alert. He pulled it off and stepped back through the door to the lift to answer, and the rest of us began to talk amongst ourselves.
Falker reached down into the deep container in the back of the room.
“Check these out.” It was dark where they were, in the back of the room. He handed the item to 4120, who walked out between the crates and held it up to the light.
It was a twenty-plus year old, dust-covered helmet. Its blue markings were chipped and stained from duty in the harsh Tatooine sand. “I remember seeing these as a kid”, said 4120. It was a battle-worn Republic Commando helmet from the Clone Wars era.
Ddraig and Felth were checking out the cannons. The latter looked over at the helmet and spoke up as he returned to his examination of the large guns “Everyone our age remembers those guys. They stormed the Temple and caught those Jedi traitors off guard. They were the foundations of the Empire we know today, those first troopers of the 501st.”
Falker stiffened a bit, reminded again of his own intimate family connection to the Jedi purge.
I reached up to 4120, “Let me see it?”
He handed the helmet over to me as I stood up. I rolled it over, examining the interior, the visor rocked back on top. Not a great deal had changed since then. Some things were smaller now and incorporated into the interior lenses. There was no longer a need for an external visor, although incorporating the zoom features of our macros that way would be nice; one less thing on our belts.
Etz was standing beside the bay doors thumbing through another rack of holo cards. Chalmun’s Cantina, Vriichi Brothers, Tusken Disturbance P-3871. “Arrest records.”
He looked up from the cards, reached for the lever on the wall above the rack and was about to swing it down, opening the bay doors for a look at what lay behind when Rogue stepped back into the room, “Inspection team’s here. Let’s go. We can look more in here later.”
Etz took his hand off the lever, started away, then glanced back at the doors wondering what lay just on the other side. I set the Commando helmet down on top of the astromech, and we all headed back toward the lift. 0600 threw the lever handle down and the lift rose back up to the surface, sealing the lower room once again.
Rogue spoke as we walked through the bunkroom and headed for the front port, “Leave your packs; just buckets and blasters tonight boys. Hopefully this won’t take too long, I’m ready for a little shuteye” and he walked out the front door onto the darkened streets of Mos Eisley.
“I’ll take a little of that myself” I said, pulling on my helmet and switching on my holstered blaster.
“Buckets and blasters” said Topolev.
“Buckets and blasters” repeated Ddraig as he grabbed his E-11 and holstered it.
Blade was the last one out the door into the cool night air. “Buckets and blasters” he echoed as he pulled on his helmet and locked the door as our new unit headed off for docking bay 94.
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 13:16:21 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 11 – Departure (Part 2 of 3)
The local port authority guard stood at attention, staring off into nothingness as he secured the stairs leading down into docking bay 94.
Down in the bay, we were going over the chain of events surrounding the Millennium Falcon’s hasty departure with the inspection team from the Tyrant . . . for the 6th time.
The lead Incident Inspector cursed as he handed Rogue’s helmet back to him, “This is no good to me! The helmet recorders were wiped clean by the massive energy wave that washed over you from the modified repulsors on the Millennium Falcon.”
Felth, who had been hanging back and sweating like it was midday, breathed a small sigh of relief. He would not be discovered. Not yet. Tyrell’s murder would be deemed as a casualty of battle.
Rogue took his helmet back, looking inside, “Do we need to replace the data cards or will they simply restart on a blank slate?”
The Inspector spoke as he turned away, distracted; watching the others from the Tyrant tossing the bodies of Tyrell and his troops onto a repulsor sled, “Switch them off and when activated again they’ll start fresh. TD-1009, we’ve been over this a number of times with you and your men, and the story seems to be consistent from everyone involved. It appears that you and your men did everything you could to prevent the Millennium Falcon from escaping. Captain Tyrell there seems to have done nothing but hamper your efforts.”
The Inspector paced a bit, “Let’s wrap this up. The Port Authority for this pathetic place has little or no records other than the ships’ name; no destination, no manifest, no anything. We have all the physical evidence we can gather here. We’ll be in touch with the command crews of the Conquest and the Tyrant. Hopefully we can project a possible hyperspace flight plan based on their last known trajectory. Lord Vader won’t leave this alone for long, of that I can assure you. The data is too sensitive.”
“Does that mean we can go?” asked Ddraig.
The inspector flashed a look his way, then turned and nodded to Rogue and headed over to load the sled onto the lift.
Rogue turned to Ddraig and the rest of us, “OK guys, let’s go get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
Buckets in hand, we all ascended the sandy stairs out of the bay pit, all eyes silently noticing the bloodstains on the lower steps to which Taka had been dragged.
As we made our way down the cool, dark streets toward headquarters, I rocked my head back, staring up into the blackness of the Tatooine night and the huge expanse of the galaxy above us. It had been almost seven standard hours since the Millennium Falcon ripped out of here. Traveling through hyperspace, they could be almost anywhere out there by now.
“Does that mean we can go?” mocked Falker, elbowing Ddraig, who grinned and laughed back at him, amusing us all as we walked along.
I drew in a deep, even breath as 4120, walking just ahead of me, leaned over to Rogue. “In the morning we need to go back out to Anchorhead and question those kids again.”
Rogue nodded, staring ahead, “Agreed.” Then he turned to 4120 “I smell another long day coming on.”
4120 smiled slightly “Another glorious day in service to the Empire!”
* * *
Princess Leia Organa had witnessed the end of her homeworld, and had been escorted away, back to her cell on the detention level.
The last of the TIE fighter patrols continued its sweep along the fringes of the freshly created Alderaan asteroid field. They took radiation readings for submission to Grand Moff Tarkin and watched for any evidence of ships that might have been on approach when the planet was destroyed. Tarkin had returned to his private chambers to go over the status reports coming in from around the station on the performance of the Superlaser units.
So far, radiation detected was minimal and several vessels, that had not been damaged or destroyed, had been spotted and drawn into the Death Star. This last remaining ship was on its way out of the field returning to the hangar bay when another ship slipped out of hyperspace and appeared on his scope, amid the tumbling rocks.
The pilot watched as the other ship fought to avoid the uncharted obstacles, and thought to himself, They must have been en route when the destruction occurred.
The whining howl of his TIE’s twin ion engines rose in pitch as he increased his speed, changed his course heading, and came around fast, approaching the ship from behind and firing several warning shots. He screamed by, nearly scraping the upper skin of the ship beneath him as he passed directly over the cockpit window, hoping to persuade the pilot to follow him.
The hand guiding the worn, Corellian freighter did just that, locking on and giving chase, all the while being led squarely into the path of the invisible, gripping tractor beam reaching out powerfully from the station ahead that shone brightly . . . like a small moon.
* * *
Wilhuff Tarkin was not a patient man today by any stretch of the imagination. He sat brooding, turning the events of the past few days over in his mind. Detailed schematic plans for the Death Star station, his project for more than 20 years now, had been stolen by a band of infiltrating rebels and was now missing.
The Imperial forces on Scarif had failed to keep the breech of security from occurring, and although he had dealt swiftly with Krennic, the plans still had yet to be recovered. Lord Vader had been interrogating the captured senator Leia Organa to reveal information regarding their whereabouts. So far, he had not been successful.
An electronic buzzer sounded as the comm button set into the deeply polished black surface of the long table illuminated. Thin, cold fingers on Tarkin’s bony hand protruded from the sleeve of his tailored officer’s uniform as he depressed it and answered. “Yes?”
A human voice answered from the speaker in the table-mounted comm unit. “We've captured a freighter entering the remains of the Alderaan system. Its markings match those of a ship that blasted its way out of Mos Eisley.”
Tarkin stared at the comm button under his fingertip as Vader moved closer, the dark Lord’s mind churned to fit this new wrinkle into the equation, “They must be trying to return the stolen plans to the Princess. She may yet be of some use to us.”
The aging Technical Specialist who had risen through the ranks to become a Grand Moff, overseeing all of the Regional Governors, turned his head ever so slightly toward Vader, staring off into nothing for several moments. “Keep her on the execution list . . . but delay it long enough for another round or two with the mind probe.” A slight smile crept onto his face. “That should provide sufficient time for the ship to be thoroughly searched. Providing she survives two more rounds, she may prove useful if something additional is uncovered.”
Vader bowed his head once, “As you wish” and walked out the door.
The ship that had eluded Tyrell was now sitting in docking bay 2037, many levels below. The Dark Lord’s pace was a bit faster than usual and as he headed for the turbolift tubes, a mouse droid happened to wander into his path. He gestured slightly and the squeaking little ‘droid was scooted to the side of the hall, out of his way.
As the doors to the lift opened and he entered, there was an almost imperceptible rippling in the Force; a tingling deep in his brain that trickled down his neck, over his shoulders and made him shudder slightly. In that tingling, there was an instant moment of recognition. It was the implication of that recognition that enraged him. The doors closed and the lift whisked away, rapidly shuttling him toward his chosen level. The sensation grew stronger, as if the midichlorians in his blood had suddenly become electrically charged.
It was unmistakably the presence of his old master.
The doors to the lift opened and he exited out into the stream of personnel walking through the corridor. A small group of TIE Pilots was just ahead of him heading toward a hangar, arguing about a known issue with the design of the Ion engines on their fighters. Several officers walked behind, and had fallen silent as his looming presence had entered the walkway.
He pushed the sensation back, focusing on the ship he now saw in the docking bay ahead. A voice blared over the hangar loudspeaker as he walked out into the large bay, “Unlock one-five-seven and nine. Release charges.” Pressure vented from something inside the hangar as he made his way to the detachment standing at attention, and the officer awaiting his arrival.
Vader came to a stop, and the young officer stepped forward, “There's no one on board, sir. According to the log, the crew abandoned ship right after takeoff. It must be a decoy, sir. Several of the escape pods have been jettisoned.”
The Sith lord turned his head away, looking the ship over, “Did you find any droids?”
The officer immediately replied, “No, sir. If there were any on board, they must also have jettisoned.”
Had this been just a decoy? Had Obi-Wan, his apprentice and the ‘droids jumped to hyperspace momentarily and then perhaps changed ships, sending this one along to buy themselves some time? The sensation pounding in his veins told him otherwise, “Send a scanning crew on board. I want every part of this ship checked.”
“Yes, sir” replied the officer, as Vader looked back toward the ship once again.
“I sense something. A presence I’ve not felt since . . .”
He allowed his words to trail off as he turned and walked away. A presence I've not felt since Obi-Wan left me for dead the first time, lying in the black volcanic sand and ash. A presence I've not felt since he left me for dead a second time on Vanqor, he thought to himself as he walked. He remembered the slashed state of his helmet in that final confrontation, his exposed eye peering out in the dim glow of their shimmering sabers, explaining to his old master that he had killed Anakin Skywalker and let Darth Vader live.
First he accidentally discovers that his former master is alive after years of believing him dead, and now Obi-Wan simply delivers himself?
Why? And why now, after such a long, long time?
He barely heard the officer behind him barking orders “Get me a scanning crew in here on the double. I want every part of this ship checked!”
* * *
As all the members of the MFP slept; while winds blew outside, drifting the sand this way and that in the dark of the Tatooine night, the holonet indicator beacon on the command center console blinked on and flashed silently, signaling a message waiting to be checked.
* * *
I had awakened early, before the dual sunrises for some reason. I had taken the time to quietly clean up and was slipping on my armor plates. We all could have used a bit more sleep, but the late meeting with the inspection crew had robbed us of that. The streets were now filling with people and the activity of a new day awaited us.
Danz, Rogue and 4120 were busy out front in the command center and Topolev was taking his turn in the ‘fresher, under the sonic shower. Here on Tatooine, water was far too precious a commodity for something as lavish as a shower, so sonic cleansing was the local practice. The sonic showers actually worked fairly well and cleaned you more thoroughly than water, once you got the hang of using them properly. Personally, I still preferred standing under hot streams of water for cleaning up and relaxing after a long day, but it is not to be. Not here. Not now.
My black-rimmed ID tags hung around my neck as I slipped my chest armor over my head. I tucked them inside the front plate and strapped it down snugly. Danz was in the front command center and yelled out as he passed by the open door, “Ddraig! Wake up. You’ve got a holo message.”
Ddraig’s eyes opened slightly as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his upper bunk. He yawned and took another deep breath, letting it out slowly as he squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened. A small groan escaped his lips as he jumped down to the floor. Stretching a bit, he walked out front, sat down at the holonet console, and keyed his personal account entry code. The screen went blank for a moment. He wiped his eyes and yawned again, then the screen flickered as a text display opened. It was from his friend, TK-1999, in Internal Security, back on Coruscant.
“Ddraig, I can’t stay on this channel long, but I wanted to let you and your men know that the ship that escaped Tatooine yesterday, the ‘Millennium Falcon’, was just recovered when she re-entered normal space in the Alderaan asteroid field. Sorry,I forgot, you might not have heard. Tarkin and Vader used the Death Star superlaser on Alderaan. It’s all over the holonet news. The entire planet is gone, there’s nothing left but an asteroid field of planetary fragments.”
Ddraig’s eyes darted a bit faster over the text.
“One of our TIE pilots coaxed the ship to give chase, although initial reports now show no passengers. It was thought the controls may have been slave-rigged to respond to other traffic. Once it was brought aboard, at Lord Vader’s request, a scanning crew was brought in to search the ship top to bottom. The initial walk-through turned up nothing. The passengers seemed to have ejected with their cargo. But, just a few moments ago, TK-0421 and another trooper were found stunned, lying naked in the engine compartment of the captured ship. A search has been mounted, as it is possible the fugitives may still be onboard the Death Star. Thanks for the efforts you and your unit made to stop these rebels. I just wanted to update you. I’ll fill you in more as information trickles through from the station. I handle all the official communiqués to Imperial Center and the Palace. I’ll know about it before the Emperor does. Enjoy the sand, buddy. TK-1999 out.”
The screen faded back to darkness, and Ddraig sat motionless for a moment. Then he stood up, “Tarkin and Lord Vader tested the Death Star on Alderaan. The planet’s completely blown away. There’s only an asteroid field there now.”
“What!?” said Rogue. 4120 looked around, stunned, as did Danz.
Ddraig continued, “He also said the Millennium Falcon was captured by the station. It must have been heading to Alderaan when it was captured. None of the passengers have been recovered yet, just the ship. My friend back on Coruscant works in Internal Security, and receives all inbound communications to the Emperor. We probably got this before his Excellency.”
Rogue nodded, “Thanks for letting us know. Well, we won’t need to head back to Anchorhead now” he noted, glancing over to 4120, “The Inspection Team will be filing their report with Lord Vader soon. They have all the information detailing our search and the Anchorhead interrogation, as well as the bits of information we discovered about the missing nephew farmhand, Luke, and the old man accompanying him. If they can tie that to something aboard the ship, maybe they’ll have a chance of finding them. It doesn’t sound too promising though. If everyone jettisoned in the onboard lifepods early in the flight, they could be anywhere. It’s beyond us now. What a pity about Alderaan. They had such beautiful works of art there.”
Ddraig nodded slowly, then slipped back into the bunkroom to tell the rest of us as 4120 spoke up, “I can’t believe Alderaan is gone!”
Rogue nodded, “We need to place a notice for the Moisture Farmers, and organize a meeting so everyone knows we’re here; start a dialogue with them to hear some of their concerns. That’s why we’re here.”
4120 nodded, “Yeah, I’ll get right on it. You know, Vader is going to have nothing but more questions about the ship’s flight path and the outcast Jedi once the inspection crew files their report. We should pay a personal visit to the port authority to see if we’ve gotten everything they know.”
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 13:30:14 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 11 – Departure (Part 3 of 3)
After a brief, morning meal of field rations, Falker, Ddraig, Felth and 0600 headed out to the port authority office to see if more information could be obtained about the Millennium Falcon and her crew. Rogue, Blade, 4120, and Danz were out on the streets putting up public notices about the meeting with the moisture farmers. Topolev, Etz and I had gone back down into the storage cache in the rear room to finish going through the inventory.
Etz stood on a repulsor sled, as he worked on the luminaries in the ceiling. He finished his wiring and closed the overhead panel, then lowered the sled to within a foot of the ground. “That astromech doesn’t look that bad. You think you can fix it Deckard?” He activated the wall-mounted switch, and the overhead lighting flickered on, brightly lighting up the room.
“Much better”, said Topolev, as he finished opening a few more crates in the back of the room.
I thoughtfully looked the little ‘droid over as I strained to scoot the heavy mech out to the lift, “I think so, but I’m definitely going to need a few parts”. I positioned the burned out ‘droid in the center of the lift, next to a crate of blasters, “We can check out some of the local shops when we’re done here. They should have what I’ll need. This little guy’s been around a while. Luckily, outdated parts seem to be a specialty around here.”
Topolev laughed as he kept working. Etz put down his tools and walked over to the bay door he had been ready to open the night before. He stood there, looking at it for a moment, then reached up and slid the lever to one side. The lights he had just repaired overhead dimmed momentarily, and there was a deep rumbling in the floor as the large bay doors began to slide open. Topolev stepped out from where he was, and I walked over to Etz, standing next to the shelf of arrest records as the doors parted.
*
“There has to be more!” demanded Falker, slamming his fist down on the desk of the Harbor Master.
“This Port Authority office is a joke” said Ddraig, disgusted.
0600 moved closer to the desk as Falker walked away to keep from strangling the bloated, reptilian officer seated behind it. Felth watched the door as 0600 pulled off his bucket and flipped on the power cell on his holstered E-11, leaning in close to the officer, “Show me the flight records for the past 72 standard hours, or you won’t live long enough to receive another payment from Jabba the Hutt to keep those records secure.”
Beads of sweat formed on the officer’s brow, as 0600 held his locked stare. The sweat beads began trickling down the officer’s scaly face as the high-pitched whine of the power cell cycled quickly up to full charge. 0600, still locked in his stare, thumbed loose the holster snap, freeing the blaster.
“You win! I’ll get you the records”, said the officer, “but Jabba won’t be very happy with you”.
0600 leaned even closer, “Do I look like I care what Jabba thinks of me?”
The officer shook his head quickly.
“Get them now” said 0600.
The officer stood, moving to the back room, under the watchful eye, and trained blaster muzzle of Falker. 0600 had lost his brother to one of Jabba’s henchmen years ago, and now Taka was dead. The Hutt was hiding information he needed to find a rebel killer. Perhaps the time had come for the crime lord to be disposed of.
Felth shifted a bit in the back of the room, taking everything in.
The Harbor Master returned with several data cards. “You’ll find the records you’re looking for on these. The crew of the YT-1300 Corellian ship, the Millennium Falcon is Han Solo, and his first mate, Chewbacca, the Wookiee. They’re regulars here. They come and go for long stretches, but eventually they always end up back here. You might also want to track down Dash Rendar. He’s Captain of the Outrider, a Corellian YT-2400 and a friend of Solo’s. He was in town until yesterday; raised ship a few hours before the ‘Falcon. They both have worked for Jabba over the years. That’s all I know, I swear. The rest of the details are on the cards”.
0600 took the cards and walked out, followed by the others.
The Harbor Master closed his eyes in relief, breathing a bit easier now that they were gone. Then he turned to his holonet port and opened a direct line to Jabba’s court.
*
Even this early in the morning, farmers and merchants filled the marketplace, peddling their wares, services, and crops. Others crowded in for looking, buying, or just trying to get under the draped overhead canopies and out of the beating direct sunslight.
Danz and Blade posted notices on the wall of the marketplace as Rogue worked the other side of the courtyard.
Several farmers came up to them, voicing their concerns about recent increase in activity from the Sandpeople. “I’ve had water stolen from six ‘vaporators this week alone, and they vandalized the repair ‘droid that was out there working on the ones damaged from their last raid.”
Another farmer nodded, “They don’t much bother the units out in the dunes, but the ones that skirt the Wastes are always being raided. I heard Sandpeople raided a farm yesterday, killing the owners!”
Danz nodded, “I understand your concerns and frustrations. This is exactly what we want to hear from you, but at the meeting. We’re here to help make sure you can get your crops harvested without interference of any kind.”
“About time” said one of the older farmers. The crowd thinned a bit as some went back to their selling.
“The meeting is tomorrow morning here in the market area. We’ll all find out more then. Spread the word to the outlying farms”, said 4120.
Danz shook his head, “Rough crowd”.
4120 snorted “Yeah”.
As the troops regrouped and headed off to post more notices, a figure on the far side of the square watched them go, then flipped open a comlink and began speaking in Huttese.
*
I could hear and feel sand being crushed and ground down as large doors slid all the way open, and then there was silence, absolute still silence. Topolev walked over, and the three of us stepped through the opening into the cool darkness that lay beyond. Etz reached for a luminary control on the wall, but there was none.
Slowly, our unaided human eyes adjusted to the dim light seeping in from behind us. The darkness ahead was an empty room, save one large object in the center. Stepping closer, we were able to make out the rounded, sloping body of a vehicle; a very sleek troop transport.
Although the end we were facing appeared to be the rear thrusters, as we walked around, it became clear that it was actually the front, and the thrusters were for close, tight maneuvering. Open-air cockpit seating was situated just above them.
As we continued around, the rear of the transport was low and open, with a wide tailboard for easy deployment and quick, retreating dust-offs. There were benches down both sides, with hooks on the walls and the deck plates for securing prisoners. An array of armaments were built-in and flush, beneath the skins of the ship to maintain its’ unbroken curving surface.
Etz walked around the left side, as Topolev and I walked around the right. Several fueling lines were draped over hooks on the rear wall. I followed the lines of the stony walls up to the ceiling overhead. There was a seam running down the center of the ceiling; a dividing line between a set of doors that would open to allow the ship in and out. Topolev and Etz followed my gaze and both looked up.
Etz wrapped his hand around the grip of another lever on the wall, “This must open the upper doors”.
“WAIT!” yelled Topolev. “Think about where we are right now. Those doors must open up in the courtyard behind the barracks. At least one of the shuttle’s landing gear assemblies is probably on top of them. If you open that up, the shuttle comes crashing in”.
Etz removed his hand from the lever. “You’re right, good call.”
Topolev exhaled heavily, “That was close.” He looked over to the ship “This thing’s a prototype, I saw plans similar to this when I was stationed on Kashyyyk, but I never saw one make it to production.”
I walked a little closer, running my hand over the smooth, curving metal “It’s pretty slick whatever it is.”
*
As he walked behind his men up the narrow stairs from the marketplace toward the crowded streets above, Rogue reached out to Garindan on his comlink. “Meet us at the building across from the Cantina. I repeat, Meet us at the building across from the Cantina.”
A bit of white noise crackled from the tiny speaker and then, “Of course”. Rogue snapped off the comm and returned it to his belt.
The crowds parted as they spilled out onto the street. No one wanted to make eye contact for fear they might be dragged into something. The elders here remembered living through the Clone Wars and the troops from that time. The armor was a bit different and there were no longer clones underneath, but the mission was the same, loyalty to the success of the Empire and suppression of the people to make it so, forcefully whenever necessary.
The group marched in formation through the blistering sand, thankful for every slight breeze that managed to blow under their armor plates and helmets. The shimmering twin suns were now almost directly overhead, blasting everything not under shade with punishing heat. A narrow sliver of the largest of Tatooine’s three moons was barely visible out over the Dune Sea as it prepared to slip below the horizon, and the sky was clear with no clouds, but then there were hardly ever clouds on Tatooine. With only 1% surface water, a total planetary population of around 200,000, and Moisture Farmers constantly coaxing what little water they could from the atmosphere, clouds in any large abundance or density were definitely a rare occurrence.
As the small group drew closer to the Cantina, they could see Garindan in the distance, working his way through the crowded street heading their way. Rogue activated his bucket’s comm chin switch, “Falker, any luck with the Harbor Master?”
A brief moment of silence was broken by Falker’s static-laden reply “Yeah. I think we’ve got some good information to check once we get back to base.”
“Great news.” said Rogue “We’re at base now, we’ll see you soon . . . 1009 out”. His sign-off was immediately followed by a slight burst of static. He flipped the chin switch from comm mode back to broadcast mode. “Blade, go on ahead inside and get the data card reader ready for us. We’ll be inside as soon as the snitch arrives. I want to see what he knows about our mysterious, exiled Jedi”.
Blade nodded and walked off the main road down the alley to our front portal and entered.
Danz leaned a little closer to Rogue and 4120 as he moved his head side to side, watching the passersby on the street “Do you think he knows anything?”
4120 looked to his CO, but Rogue kept a watchful eye on his dark Kubaz spy as he answered. “If he knew the other troops stationed here, he’s been here a long time. I hope he’s as connected as he says he is. I also hope he isn’t working both sides.”
*
The disturbing images of TK-1138’s violent death at the hands of the hooded and robed old hermit came to a close, and we saw the final, sideways images of the boy and old man walking past the helmet camera. The display screen on the card reader flashed to static as the recording concluded.
Rogue pulled the helmet data card out of the slot as Garindan settled back in his seat, silent for a moment, in thought. He had seen the old man many times over the years in the cantina, drinking silently at the bar, but never paid him much attention. He was just a quiet loner that lived somewhere out in the rocky hills of the Jundland wastes, who rarely ventured into town. Blade, Danz, and 4120 stood around him with Rogue, as I entered the room from the barracks in the back, wiping a power coupling from the damaged ‘droid on a dirty rag.
Garindan shifted in his seat and turned to face Rogue, giving up only part of what he knew. “I have seen this man before, but know nothing of him, except that he goes by the name Ben Kenobi. There are two others that have spent time in Chalmun’s Cantina that may know something of him. Over the years I have seen the old man speaking with the Ithorian, Mamow Nadon, the Hammerhead. More recently I did see him speak with BoShek, a pilot regular.”
As he finished speaking, Falker, Ddraig, Felth, and 0600 entered from the street.
“We’ve got all the flight records for the past 72 hours right here” said Falker, holding up the data cards. “Now we just have to go through them to find the information we’re looking for. It turns out the Harbor Master is on the Hutt’s payroll, and he was hiding flight records, until 0600 . . . explained . . . to him how badly we needed them. I think a visit to Jabba the Hutt is definitely in order after we complete the business at hand, just to touch base and let him know we’re here.”
Rogue shook the helmet data card at him, “If the Harbor Master’s on the payroll, you can be sure the Hutt was notified about us the moment we first touched down. We’ll definitely see him, but when the time is right.”
He stepped away, pacing across the room a bit as Etz and Topolev joined us in the command center and I spoke up, “If both of these other contacts were known regulars in Chalmun’s, the snitch should locate them for us, and right now. If BoShek is a pilot, he could leave at any moment.”
Falker leaned in a bit toward Garindan, “The Harbor Master mentioned another pilot named Dash Rendar, said he was a pilot and friend to Han Solo, the Captain of the Millennium Falcon. Do you know anything about him?”
The Kubaz pondered a bit. “Rendar. Rendar and Solo are competitive rivals when it comes to the speed of their starships, the Outrider and the Millennium Falcon, but, then again, so is BoShek. As far as I know, Rendar and Solo are friends, but BoShek has been boasting recently that he could beat Solo’s time on the Kessel Run in his ship, Infinity. Solo wasn’t happy about it. They’re all free-lance spacers, and have flown for Jabba the Hutt over the years. BoShek has also flown for the B’Omarr Monks on occasion. Rendar has been in town for about a week, but raised ship just before Solo did. I’m not sure where he was headed, but I do know he had a recent meeting with the Hutt.”
“The records we just got our hands on should give us more information about that” said 0600, and he grabbed the cards from Falker. He motioned for Garindan to get up, and the Kubaz spy complied. 0600 took his place at the reader and inserted the first card to begin poring through the records in search of something that might help.
Rogue snapped a quick order to me. “Deckard, take Etz, Topolev, Falker, Ddraig, and the snitch over to the Cantina. See if our targets are in there. If not, find out where we might find BoShek and Mamow Nadon.”
He paused a moment in thought. “0600, let 1265 take over that reader and do the searching. I want you to come with me, Danz, 4120, Blade and Felth. We’re going back to the Lars place to see if there’s anything left behind that ties Luke to old Ben Kenobi. If we don’t find anything there, we’ll head back to Tosche Station in Anchorhead and press Fixer and his friends for more information. Let’s move, people, it’s already almost midday.”
We all moved to the bunkroom to gear up as Garindan moved toward the door. Rogue followed, stopping at the doorway. “We need everything we can find on this Ben Kenobi and his involvement with Luke, Owen Lars’ nephew. Time is of the essence. Lord Vader will have questions about them both very soon, and we need to have answers ready. Keep in touch, and let me know what you uncover.”
Garindan nodded his large head and beak, and disappeared outside, heading toward the main street. Rogue grabbed his pack and pulled it on, closely watching the dark-robed spy disappear into the crowds, “My team, let’s go! Everyone in the shuttle out back. 4120, you’re flying.”
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 13:48:18 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 12 – Sifting for Clues Part 1 of 2
A dense fog hung heavy over the still waters below, as the Outrider coasted silently on repulsors, scanning along the edge of an enormous lake on Dathomir.
Wreckage and pieces of debris from battles long over, half-submerged in the shallows, revealed themselves from within the opaque haze.
The ruined remains of snub-ship fighters of various origin and model lay scattered just below the glassy surface, and the still, silent head of an All-Terrain Armored Transport broke the surface forever frozen in time, thrust skyward like a metallic beast struggling for air.
Rendar had heard of the savage battles here, and from the widespread abundance of twisted remnants, he could tell it was one that raged for some time. As the murky vapor thinned and burned away under the heat of the emerging sun, the faint outline of a huge sail barge was visible in the distance.
He maneuvered his ship over to it, silently sliding past, taking note of its excellent condition. Very little, if any, damage was visible from the outside. Either her crew had been killed, or it had been accidentally set adrift during the battle. Regardless of how she came to be in this ship graveyard, Rendar knew he could sell her easily on the open market. The retractable awnings and masts on the upper decks would have to be stowed in a swept-back position for transporting, he thought as his brain raced with the possibilities. He tried desperately to think of someone that owed him a favor; someone with a transport large enough to contain her.
There was a filthy-rich, Hutt crime lord back on Tatooine that would pay generously for such a high-profile display of wealth, possibly even generously enough for him to finally purchase a second ship. As he contemplated going onboard to look for salvageable cargo his scanner blipped, reminding him of the immediate reason for being here. There was a gathering of large lifeforms just ahead on the shore of the lake.
The Outrider silently pulled away from the barge as Rendar keyed its position into his ‘nav computer. He would be back. As for this current trip, if all went well with the capture, he would be on his way back to Tatooine soon with his quarry. A high-pitched chorus of cries rose from the shoreline. The gathering of beasts had made a kill and they were fighting over the spoils. Rendar cinched his chest armor down tightly, checked his holstered blaster, and energized the powerful stun rifle leaning against his instrument panel. He had to capture a young one, and it had to be alive.
* * *
I later came to discover that this inner city portion of Mos Eisley was known as “Pirate City”. This area surrounding the spaceport had earned the nickname by playing host to pirates, smugglers, and guns for hire and those who sought out their less-than-reputable services. As relaxed as the ‘Pirate City’ patrons of Chalmun’s Cantina were, they definitely sat up and took notice a bit when five Sandtroopers entered and spilled down the steps into the noise and smoke. The pulsing beat of the music slowed a bit, but quickly recovered as Dan and the ‘Nodes kept the music playing, watching us slip in amongst the crowd.
Ddraig stood by the ‘droid detector, covering the front door. I worked my way quickly around to the back of the room to cover the rear exit, and Etz stepped up to the bar to ask Wuher about our two marks. Topolev and Falker stepped into the thick of the crowd, watching the faces of those around them as Wuher spoke to Etz. The Hammerhead, Nadon, was easily found, seated in the corner booth, sipping on a drink, and they moved in closer to his table, watching him.
Etz moved away from the bar, and as he made his way past Falker and Topolev he indicated a human in a flight suit seated at a card game near the back of the room. The three of them moved toward me. Etz motioned to his eye lenses and then to Nadon for Ddraig to keep an eye on the Ithorian.
Falker stepped up to the game table, “BoShek?” The dark-haired human looked up from his cards, the smoke from his cigar drifting about his head. Etz and Topolev flanked Falker as the Rodian and the two other humans at the table laid down their cards, grabbed their credits and left BoShek alone with us.
The remaining human exhaled deeply, slowly laid his cards down and grabbed the thick cigar near his lips, pulling it away from his mouth. He spit out a small bit of the leafy cigar. “Look, I’ve been over this and over this. The ship has been re-registered in my name, there’s no reason to think . . .”
Falker cut him off, “This isn’t about your ship. We need answers about someone you know, and we need them now. We can discuss your business here, or you can come outside with us for a little more privacy.”
The pilot nodded slowly, glancing around, “OK, let’s step outside then. I’ll need to work after this is over.”
I saw Etz, Falker and Topolev step back as BoShek stood up from the table. He gathered his credits and surrendered his thigh-holstered blaster to Falker as the four walked past me out the front door.
I stepped over closer to Ddraig to move on Nadon. Ddraig positioned himself to one side of the booth, I stepped up to the other. “Mamow Nadon?” I asked.
The tired eyes atop the twin eye stalks blinked twice as he looked up from his drink and fixed his sight on us. “Yes?” came the stereo response from his dual mouths.
Ddraig continued, “We need information about someone you have been seen with over the years.”
The aging Ithorian sat upright, speaking slowly with calculated clarity, “Oh? I do hope this person hasn’t gone and done something foolish. Who is it you are inquiring about?”
I looked over at Ddraig and then responded “We need to know about Ben Kenobi, the hermit that lives in the hills, out in the wastes.”
Mamow Nadon stiffened slightly. Kenobi had warned him that this day would come, that it was just a matter of time. The Ithorian had seen his friend looking for passage off-world with the young boy, Luke. Ben had told him ‘When and if I leave the planet, it will be with the boy. Once I am gone, should anyone come asking about me, save yourself and tell them anything they want to know. By the time they ask, it will be too late for your information to be of any assistance to them.’
Nadon took a sip of his drink, “Ben Kenobi, Ben Kenobi. I can tell you about him, but let’s go out to the street. There are far too many ears in here.”
* * *
The Outrider sat silently camouflaged in the lush, dense foliage near the water’s edge. Rendar exited his ship and moved cautiously along the shore, quietly parting the tall grasses as he advanced on the feeding herd ahead. There were approximately nine of the beasts, with the largest of the males and females ripping the kill to pieces, devouring their meal and throwing the occasional small piece to the gathering of young ones several meters away.
Rendar was closer than he cared to be, but this proximity was necessary to watch them, and single out the best choice for capture. There were three youngsters watching their elders, but two of them had pushed a smaller one to the back of their group, leaving him relatively unattended.
Lifting his rifle, he cocked his head and closed one eye, peering through the scope and taking aim on the small one in the rear of the pack. With it squarely in the sight, he toggled a switch from disintegration to high powered stun and waited, listening to the grunting and snarling as the group fed. One of the larger males swiped at another, growling and howling loudly, the sound echoing off the water. As it did, Rendar fired at the small one. A beam of spaced, blue light rings silently slapped the creature on the back and it dropped to the ground. The others continued eating, not noticing that the youngest lay unconscious on the ground.
Dash reached into a pouch on his belt withdrawing a small capsule. Moving as close as he dared to the rear of the herd, he silently hurled the capsule into the foliage beyond them. There was a brilliant flash of light, followed by billowing smoke. As the herd looked up from its’ meal to address the smoke, he boosted the four foot ‘baby’ Rancor off the ground, threw it over his shoulder, turned, and ran as fast as he could toward his ship.
He was almost to it when one of the older, 10-meter tall males caught sight of him running, and let out a horrific howl. It crashed off through the underbrush after the stolen youngster, followed by the rest of the herd. They tore through the muddy vines and grasses quickly closing the distance between their now-forgotten meal and Rendar.
Dash raced through the marshy terrain and foliage, vines ripping at his face and arms as he ran for his life. The dead weight of the unconscious Rancor over his shoulder slowed him down immensely. His foot hit the bottom of the Outrider’s ramp and he glanced back over his shoulder; the herd was gaining rapidly. The interior hatch slammed down as he flung the rancor off his shoulder, dropped his rifle, and ran for the cockpit.
The engines lay waiting on standby until he slammed a control lever forward, raising them to full power as he jumped into his seat. One hand instinctively found the throttle, the other a directional stick. The engines fired as the repulsors pushed hard against the muddy ground. The landing gear feet pulled clear of the thick mud, retracting as the ship rose into the air. He heard the horrible scraping sound of the huge claws of his pursuers squealing across the lower hull as the ship ripped away toward the sky. His breaths were deep and his heart pounding as the Outrider streaked away from Dathomir.
The ‘nav computer beeped confirmation as he entered the coordinates for Tatooine. With a safe course plotted, he gently pulled back on the twin center-throttle controls, initiating the hyperspace jump. The dim starlight outside his cockpit window streaked into long, stretched star lines as the Outrider was flung out of the Quelii sector, disappearing into the brilliant vortex of lightspeed.
His body adjusted to the increased speed as he stood up and went back to the hold to secure his deliverable. “Easy money” he muttered to himself, grinning as he snapped the stun collar around the neck of the Rancor.
* * *
Wailing Tatooine winds whipped across the open expanse of desert as an early-afternoon sandstorm advanced rapidly across the flats.
4120 lowered the shuttle to the ground near the domed entry to the underground Lars homestead as the front edge of the storm swept over the ship and engulfed the farm. The small band of troops descended the ramp into the raging wind and churning bite of the sand.
They were barely able to make out the shapes of several local people braving the harsh conditions to move two large bundles down into the shelter of the underground dwelling. Their loose desert clothing flapped wildly in the strong gusts.
Danz sprinted ahead and was hurrying the locals out of the storm and down into the homestead. The rest of the troops crossed the open space to the relative protection of the entryway.
When the last one was out of the gusting sandstorm, they made their way down the stairs into the darkness below. The stone steps had been placed by hand when the dwelling was built. Their sharp edges had worn smooth over the years, and there was now a slight depression in the center of each stone of the heavily-traveled corridor.
The others they had gone ahead a bit with Danz and were waiting in the corridor ahead.
0600, Rogue, 4120, and Blade followed, with Felth bringing up the rear. He had his E-11 drawn and leveled at the others in the corridor as Rogue stepped forward, addressing them, “What’s you’re business here?”
The older man in the front of the group pulled his goggles up into his dark hair, “I might ask you the same. I’m Huff Darklighter, I own several neighboring farms that share borders with this one. Several of my farmhands were out repairing ‘vaporator units yesterday and reported seeing smoke over this way. They rode over in their ‘speeder to check things out and made a gruesome discovery. The owners, Owen and Beru Lars, had been savagely murdered, and the farm had been left burning and in smoking ruins. I just heard about it this morning when I returned from a business trip in Mos Espa.”
A second, younger man in the group stepped up, removing his goggles. “I bet you did this. The timing fits perfectly with when we were questioned at the power station”, indicating the others behind him.
The young woman next to him now raised her goggles and pulled his arm, holding him back “Fixer, don’t.”
“We were here”, said Rogue, “and we spoke to the Lars’ about the same missing ‘droid you were questioned about. Mr. Lars said he had sent the two ‘droids he’d just bought to Mos Espa for refurbishing and memory wipes. It wasn’t until we started asking about their nephew, Luke, that they both became defensive. Mrs. Lars held us at bay with a thermal detonator, and inadvertently vaporized herself and her husband when she . . . dropped it.”
It was only partly the truth, but the gist of the chain of events was accurate.
The younger man edged forward, again held back by Camie, “You expect us to buy that?”
Rogue turned to him. Stepping closer “I don’t care if you buy it or not. I don’t answer to you and I certainly don’t owe you any explanation where sensitive Imperial business is concerned, got it?”
Fixer stared back intently as Huff placed a firm hand on his shoulder, silently reigning him in. Another young voice spoke up behind Camie, “So where’s Wormie?”
Rogue leaned his head to one side to see past Fixer, “You mean Luke?”
“Yeah, no one’s seen him since a couple of days ago when he came blasting into the station bragging about seeing a battle beyond the atmosphere” said Windy, realizing that Luke HAD been right.
“Yeah”, echoed Deak.
“That’s actually why we’re here” said Rogue. “We’re looking for more information about Luke and the hermit of the wastes, Ben Kenobi.”
All faces went blank as a silence fell over the group, then Deak spoke up “I knew that old freak would crack up one day and do something like this.”
Huff Darklighter rolled his eyes “You don’t know that he . . .”
Deak continued, cutting him off. “I overheard my parents talking to the Lars about him once. He came here several times over the years, asking about Luke, bringing him gifts, how creepy is that? Owen didn’t like him much, and finally ordered him to stay away from the farm and Luke. Beru seemed to always feel sorry for him.”
The wind howled outside, spraying sand down the steps behind them.
4120 stepped up a bit closer “What have you got there in your bundles?” nodding toward the darkness of the floor.
Huff leaned closer, “That’s what’s left of Owen and Beru. We were about to bury them when the sandstorm kicked up. We’ll finish when it passes. These small storms don’t last long, not like the Teeth of Tatooine.”
All the troopers turned to the older moisture farmer, “The Teeth of Tatooine?” asked Danz.
Darklighter nodded, “That’s right. There are several massive deserts that make up the Dune Sea. For the most part, Tatooine is uninhabited by humans. Only Sandpeople and some Jawas venture out beyond the edges of the settlement areas. Not far from here is a transitional area where two of these deserts converge. One is on a higher plateau than the other, and when the afternoon comes, the changing temperatures and air pressures cause the cooling air of the higher desert to shift and rush down into the lower plateau in a blinding daily sandstorm. Its winds are powerful enough to hurl sharp rock shards along the sloping region, shredding anything left out in the open, hence the name, The Teeth of Tatooine.”
0600 tapped Rogue on the shoulder, “We should get back to why we came, and see if anything was left behind that might help us. The techdome and power generator are total losses. The oil bath and fuels from the ‘speeder and Skyhopper out there made for a pretty intense fire, but the living quarters and the hydroponic growing rooms down below us may still be somewhat intact.”
Rogue nodded in agreement, motioning for the others to follow. “You civilians wait here. When the storm passes, bury your dead and be on your way, this homestead is part of our investigation now and off limits until further notice.” He eyed Fixer, “Off limits.” and headed down the hallway.
The others followed into the hall until he stopped at a portion of the tunnel that had collapsed. “We’re going to need to dig in from here. Luckily, 0600 and I have a bit of experience with that.” He pulled off his helmet and slapped 0600 on the shoulder. “Right?”
Setting his helmet down, he began clearing away some of the larger stone pieces, passing them back to the others to be placed along the edge of the corridor. “It looks like just pieces of the tunnel frame casing broke loose from the explosion. The sand above here is packed almost as tight as rock.” 0600 pulled off his bucket and set to work dong the same.
*
The slow-moving Ithorian moved a few feet further into the alley, off the main street and away from anyone who might have wanted to overhear. He leaned against the back wall of the Mos Eisley cantina, feeling the vibrations from the music inside in his bones. “Ben Kenobi, huh” he sighed deeply.
Silently he gathered his thoughts for a moment, while silently apologizing to his old friend, whom he still felt he was betraying, regardless of what he had been told.
“I met Ben Kenobi almost 20 years ago now, right here in this bar” he said, running his long fingers across the wall behind him with a bit of an unfocused, far away look in his eyes as he recalled the past.
“The day had been long, full of intricate experiments with my Bafforr trees and I was in for a drink to help me relax and re-focus . . . .”
“You ever do anything except mess around with those plants?” asked Wuher.
“You ever do anything except mess around with those drinks?” replied Nadon, sardonically, tipping up his glass.
Wuher snorted. “Touché, but mark my words, one day I’ll find the perfect blend, that perfect drink that Jabba won’t be able to resist, and he’ll bring me out to work at the palace as his personal bartender. I’m a young man, I’ve got time to figure out what he likes, and when I do, I’ll be out of this place. What’s so interesting about those plants anyway?” he said as he continued mixing and concocting the next drink.
Nadon tasted his own drink as he formulated his response. “These trees are special. They are aware. They have a living awareness, not just a shadow in the Force, but a presence in it all their own.”
Wuher laughed, “You a mystic too? Or a Jedi? I could use the money I’d earn by turning you in” he laughed.
Nadon laughed as well, “No, my friend, I’m hardly Jedi material, although I have had no problems feeling the Force, sometimes stronger than others.” He didn’t notice the cloaked young man further down the bar taking a sudden interest in their conversation. The music streamed across the open room and smoke hung thick in the air tonight. Wuher was busy keeping up with the drink orders for the heavy crowd.
“I paid a pretty credit for each of my trees, and have been experimenting with their Force-presence and the effects of Ysalimiri on them and the Force around them.”
Wuher had stopped mixing the drink and was staring blankly with a dense expression on his face. The conversation had suddenly taken a turn, moving it far above his comprehension level.
Nadon smiled a small smile, “It’s not terribly important work, but it keeps me interested, busy, and out of trouble.” He raised his cup and downed the last of his liquid intoxicant. “Thank you for the drink, but it’s time I was on my way.”
As he stood up from the bar, Wuher absently waved once with a free hand. He was mixing yet another new drink, another step on his quest. As the Ithorian ascended the steps to the front door, the cloaked patron further down the bar lay several credits down, threw back the rest of his drink and made his way toward the door as the dark-goggled Kubaz at the table in front of the band turned to watch him go.
Nadon was on the darkened, empty street making his way toward his speeder when the human bar patron stepped out into the cool evening air several paces behind.
As the Ithorian climbed into the speeder, the human quickly drew nearer, “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear about your interest in Bafforr trees and Ysalimiri.”
Nadon turned his head ‘round trying to make out the face of the cloaked figure in the pale moonslight. The human sensed his uneasiness and reached up, pulling back his hood, revealing a gentle, bearded face. “Hello there. Don’t be afraid, I mean you no harm, I swear. I’m interested in your discussion with our bartender friend. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the presence of a Bafforr tree, and was curious about your findings, with the Ysalimiri. I’ve heard rumors, but do they truly emanate an area where the Force cannot exist?”
Nadon leaned a little closer, “I feel you in the Force, my new friend, quite strongly. In the past I felt others with the same presence as you, another lifetime ago, before the madness. Yes, if I recall correctly, they do have Bafforr trees in the gardens of the Jedi Temple, don’t they?”
Kenobi straightened up a bit, hand moving to the side of his belt.
“Don’t worry, friend” said the Ithorian, looking around the dark streets, “I am as much a refugee as you are. I pose no threat to you, and have no interests in revealing your presence here, I promise. Would you like to see them? And perhaps judge for yourself about the Ysalimiri?”
After a brief moment of silence as Nadon’s words sunk in fully, “Absolutely”, came Kenobi’s response.
The arborist motioned for the exiled Jedi to join him in the speeder. “We don’t receive many visitors, the trees and I. In fact, you will be the first.”
Kenobi climbed into the passenger compartment and Nadon pulled away into the darkness heading for his home.
Ben spoke above the sound of the engine, “You said you were a refugee also. What happened to you to make you seek refuge here?”
The speeder glided along as Nadon relayed the details of his life as a High Priest and highly esteemed arborist, and his banishment from his homeworld as they disappeared into the night heading toward his small dwelling nestled in the foothills on the outskirts of Mos Eisley.
* * *
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Post by BlackFalcon1138 on Oct 6, 2022 13:57:24 GMT -5
The Sandtrooper’s Story Chapter 12 – Sifting for Clues Part 2 of 2
It burned cold now, like fire-ice in his veins, racing through him, pulsing with his heartbeat, warming and chilling him at the same time. There could be no doubt that his old master was near, and had been concealed onboard the Millenium Falcon when she was dragged onboard. Vader remained silent as Tarkin’s meeting closed and one by one the Moff’s top consultants filed out of the room.
He watched as the last one, senior Imperial Commander in charge of operations, Admiral Motti, stepped silently into the corridor outside. He was an arrogant peddler of the technological might and ultimate battle superiority that this new Death Star would bring to the Empire. Vader detested him. “I should have strangled him when I had the opportunity” escaped his lips and was faithfully reproduced by the synthetic voice enhancers in his helmet.
Tarkin swiveled his chair slightly, staring coldly at the Dark Lord as the door to the corridor slid shut. “I don’t trust him any further than I do Krennic, but he’s one of my top men for a reason.” The vein in his forehead protruding as he spoke. “He understands the necessary show of power it will take to keep the local systems . . .”
“He is an imbecile”, Vader interrupted. “A child in an adult’s arena, but we have more important matters that have surfaced.”
Tarkin stood, his brow furrowing, “What matters?”
Vader paused momentarily. “I reviewed the helmet recording from the trooper on Tatooine. I saw a disturbing image on it, one which I have been replaying over and over, seeking clarity and not reaching any. With the capture of the Millenium Falcon, I have determined that my first impression from the recording was true. My former master is alive, and, HE is here.”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi? What makes you think so?” scoffed Tarkin, standing up from his chair.
Vader responded matter-of-factly to him. “A tremor in the Force. The last time I felt it, was in the presence, of my old master.”
Memories of the violent eruptions on Mustafar and the searing pain of lightsaber wounds and burning dissolved as Tarkin replied. “Surely he must be dead by now.”
Adamantly Vader replied, “Don’t underestimate the Force.”
“The Jedi are extinct. Their fire has gone out of the universe. You, my friend are all that’s left of their religion.” As he finished his sentence, the comm on the table sounded. He keyed it on, “Yes?”
The voice on the line replied, “Governor Tarkin, we have an emergency alert in detention block AA-23.”
The significance of the number sunk in as he keyed the comm again, “The princess? Put all sections on the alert.”
Vader took a step closer, “Obi-Wan is here. The Force is with him.”
Tarkin glared at his dark friend, “If you’re right, he must not be allowed to escape.”
Vader knew better what lay ahead. An inescapable destiny that had been set in motion when Obi-Wan had foolishly twice left him for dead. “Escape is not his plan. I must face him. Alone.”
* * *
The Dewbacks shifted around, fighting for space in the small, pungent pen adjacent to the entrance of the Cantina.
BoShek paced back and forth, carefully watching where he stepped. “How many times do I need to tell you the same thing? I knew of him, and flew a few things in for him over the years, but I didn’t know him, I didn’t drink with him, we never played cards together. He had specific requests and paid on time. The old man was a job nothing more.”
Falker and Etz kept their blasters low, but trained on him as he continued.
“He was in yesterday looking for a fast flight out. I have a pre-paid job that has me leaving here tomorrow, or I would’ve taken him. I had seen Chewie in the back with Solo just before the old guy came in.”
There was a long silence and BoShek saw that no one knew who ‘Chewie’ was. “Chewbacca. The Wookiee from Solo’s ship, the ‘Falcon. Anyway, so I motioned for him to join us at the bar. When he came over I moved down to let them have room to talk, and I finished my drink. I didn’t hear any part of their conversation, it was too noisy.
Then, the kid that was with the old guy must have upset old Doc Evazon and his Aqualish friend. They were about to bump up the number of death sentences on their heads from twelve to thirteen when Kenobi pulls out a lightsaber and slices Evazon in two, and peels off the Aqualish’s arm. A lightsaber? Who uses those things anymore? That’s when I moved around to get a better look.
Doc had eluded many a bounty hunter over the years, but old Ben dispatched him without breaking a sweat. After he switched off the blade and helped the boy up off the floor, the three of them walked past me on their way to see Solo. Now, I don’t speak Wookiee, and I couldn’t make out what Chewie’s part of the exchange was, but as they walked by I heard Kenobi say ‘He is still alive, but that is all I can say, my friend.’ And that’s all I know about yesterday, I swear.”
“You said you shipped in various things over the years.” said Topolev, “What types of things?”
Falker and Etz turned their gaze to the pilot as he rocked his head back, staring up into the sky in thought. Falker pushed one of the Dewbacks away, as it had wandered a little too close.
“It’s been a long time guys, and it was only an order or two. If I remember correctly, on one of the orders he said he wanted some security sentries because he lived alone. Yeah, now I remember. The order was for six or seven seeker remotes with shock and stun settings only, no kill. I was only able to find ones with all three, but he said he could disable the kill function himself. I think there was an order for cable and cable fastening hardware, some tools, and other miscellaneous things. Nothing real exotic or strange.”
Etz interjected, “Mamow Nadon, the Ithorian from the bar, had been seen with him over the years. Do you know anything about him?”
He thought a second. “I’ve had a few jobs for him too over the years, but then I transported for anyone that could pay; some of the parts suppliers in Mos Eisley and Mos Espa, the B’Omarr monks, and Jabba himself. The Hammerhead paid me to ship in trees, flowers and herbs. He really likes his plants. And there were a few small animals over the years too. I know he’s really into plants, but why he would want to go to all the work to try and keep them alive in a place like this is beyond me. It’s way too much work. I’d just go live somewhere green and lush to start with, it’d be much easier.”
Falker spoke up, “What animals did he want?”
“Little, fuzzy lizard-things. I picked them up from a trader in the markets on Corellia. I think he called them Ysalimanders, or something like that, said he got them on Myrkr, just off the Perlemian Trade Route. You know, in the Colonies, near Tenaab.”
Topolev glanced over to Falker and Etz, then turned back to BoShek. “Where’s your current job taking you? We may need to talk again.”
“Bespin. I’m hauling out some mining machinery that was salvaged from the far side of Tatooine near the pit.”
Topolev looked puzzled. “The pit? I thought this planet was only inhabited in the areas around here?”
BoShek grinned. “Well it is now, but during the Clone Wars, when the Empire was busy coring out this rock, there was a huge facility on the other side of the planet. They did the mining and shipping of ore offworld far away from the settlements, so as not to disrupt the locals. Check it out next time you’re heading out, the far side has an enormous coring entry point. It’s big enough to see from orbit. Yeah, this place is essentially a dead planet. A lot of the core has been cut away.”
Falker was staring at the spacer, sizing him up.
BoShek laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back after I make the delivery. This is just the first of several runs. One of the Bespin mining operations is having all kinds of supply problems and labor issues. Any automation I can supply, they’re willing to pay quite well for. I’ll be back gentlemen, don’t you worry. I’ve got nothing to hide, this time, and a lot more money to make hauling the rest of the gear.”
Etz nodded at him. “OK, you’re free to go. If we need you, we’ll find you.”
The detainee slipped out of the gate and headed back into the bar.
Topolev leaned over to Falker, “What do you think Kenobi meant by HE’s still alive? Who’s still alive?”
One of the Dewbacks groaned.
“I don’t know. What I do know is that we need to attach a homing beacon to BoShek’s ship just to be sure we know where he is”, said Etz.
Falker and Topolev nodded in agreement as all three moved out of the pen and headed toward the spaceport.
* * *
Nadon shook his large head, “Has it really been that long? I guess it has. Where has the time gone.”
I pressed him a bit, raising my blaster somewhat. “So, Kenobi was a fugitive Jedi and you did nothing to identify him or turn him over to the local authorities all these years?”
He coughed a bit, then responded. “After we went to my home and he saw the trees and Ysalimiri, the gentle person I had seen in the street was gone. He ignited his lightsaber, held it to my neck and told me that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if I ever revealed his secret, or failed to help him with trees and other supplies he needed. He said I’d never see it coming.”
Watching our body language closely, Nadon made certain that his lie was believed. Neither he nor Kenobi had any love for the Empire, and he had certainly never been threatened by Obi-Wan.
Ddraig urged him to continue. “Tell us more about old Ben.”
The Hammerhead drew in a long breath, letting it out evenly and slowly as he remembered the events of the past. He was careful to adjust things ever so slightly, making Kenobi out as a dangerous threat. “I took him to my home and when we stepped inside he was amazed at the work I had been able to accomplish in such a barren place as this . . . .”
Obi-Wan was astonished at what he saw. “Incredible. You must have several dozen trees growing in here!”
The Ithorian smiled “Four and a half dozen to be exact.”
Kenobi walked further back into the room, surrounded by the Bafforr trees. He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes, smelling the richness of the bark and leaves, the very small, pure presence of the Bafforr, stirring the Force. For a brief instant it felt as if he were in the safety and beauty of the gardens of the Temple. He missed his home, the only one he remembered having, and he missed his many friends, now dead. The collective cries of their voices rose to an overwhelming roar in his ears.
His eyes flew open as he pushed the screams further back into the calm of the Force. Memories, he thought. He knew that his friends were no longer screaming, they were one with the energy of the Force now. The screams were echoed memories, screams of anguish and betrayal. It was a betrayal by the Jedi that was his padawaan; the padawaan that was his responsibility to raise, and train, and teach. He had failed so miserably with Anakin, and the galaxy had been made to bear the burden of that failure. The weight of the responsibility bore down on him constantly, gnawing at him like a hungry animal.
“Are you all right?” asked Nadon.
Ben nodded.
Nadon raised his head, looking up into the branches. “These Ysalimiri, when evenly spaced out, in relative proximity, not only shroud themselves and the trees from the Force, they also create an area surrounding themselves that is a deadened zone. In that space, a Force-user’s presence would be concealed from outsiders. Even a meditating Jedi could evade unwanted detection. You are more than welcome to come and meditate here in my home whenever you like. I understand your need to do so without making any ripples in the Force, giving your presence away.”
Kenobi smiled as he glanced around at the trees, “I imagine keeping all these plants watered must cost quite a bit.”
Nadon coughed a bit more, as he nodded his head. “I feel like I own a small portion of Darklighter Water.”
They both smiled. Then Ben stepped closer to his new friend. “If I were able to secure a way for you to water your plants without paying, would you grow me several trees and breed Ysalimiri for each?”
The Ithorian blinked several times at the offer, “You have a way to do such a thing? The moisture farmers around here own all of the evaporative units.”
Kenobi nodded his head “I do. When I first arrived here, I was given two broken down condensors by an acquaintance who owns a local farm. I have repaired and restored one to working order, which provides more than enough water for my needs. I can do the same for the second, and bring it to you in exchange for the trees and Ysalimiri.”
Nadon breathed in deeply as he contemplated the offer.
Ben continued. “I have a need for an area in which the Force can be used, without its use being felt or perceived in the slightest outside the perimeter of the trees, that is of the utmost importance. How many trees and Ysalimiri would afford me a space the size of, oh, say, twice the space of Chalmun’s?”
The high priest from Ithoria calculated the space in his head. “A dozen should work nicely. I’ll get to work on them right away.”
Kenobi smiled and twisted a bit of his beard alongside his chin as he began making mental notes for supplies he would need. He only had a short amount of time before the training must begin. That had been the problem with Anakin from the beginning, his age, and too many attachments. He was determined to not repeat his mistakes with Luke or Leia. There was far too much at stake.
* * *
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