Star Wars - Episode I Adventures 007 - Capture Arawynne

by Dave Wolverton

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Watch your head,” Princess Arawynne said. The Ghostling child leaped lightly from one mossy rock to another and pointed at a tree overhead. Pala glanced up, trying to spot the source of the danger. But here in the pleasure garden of Gardulla the Hutt, danger was everywhere.

  “What am I watching for?” Pala asked. Overhead was a tree with dangling dry leaves — just like every other tree in the garden. Behind the tree was a wall of red stone that rose majestically, and above that hung the transparisteel roof of the garden. Tatooine’s suns had nearly fallen, and night was settling in on the garden. Pala would never have gone out in such a dangerous place without Arawynne and her friends to help her.

  “It’s a bush from Deneba,” Arawynne said. “It isn’t a real tree. It picks leaves off other trees and holds them in its twiggy fingers until some unsuspecting creature — like you — wanders underneath. Then it drops all the leaves at once, grabs you, and wham — you go right in its mouth. Gardulla is going to have lots of fun with that one.”

  “Oh,” Pala said. Gardulla’s pleasure garden was turning out to be anything but a pleasure. It was one of the most dangerous spots on Tatooine, as far as Pala could see. The only reason she was here at all was because Gardulla was hunting for her, and if Pala got caught — well, the deneba bush would probably give her a kinder end than Gardulla would.

  She stopped for a moment and stood on a mossy rock. Ahead of her, Princess Arawynne jumped lightly to the grass and threw back her hair. The frail Ghostling didn’t seem to be bothered by the dangerous surroundings. She seemed perfectly at home here. But perhaps she was just acting that way so the other Ghostling children wouldn’t be afraid.

  A tiny creature, red and sparkling, flew up to Pala’s shoulder. “Come on, silly,” the creature giggled. “You don’t want to sit for too long in this part of the woods.” She was a Wistie from the forest moon of Endor. Many people called them the “firefolk.” Like Pala and Arawynne, she’d been brought here as a slave. When Gardulla opened her garden to night parties, the Wistie would serve as a flying night-light.

  “It doesn’t seem like it’s safe to be anywhere in these woods,” Pala said. “There’s cucul and swamp slugs living in the bogs, and deneba bushes and syren plants in the woods—”

  “Don’t forget the eye-snatcher! Never forget about the eye-snatcher,” Arawynne warned. The eye-snatcher from the Ottega system was a beautiful red bird that would swoop down on people and try to pull out their eyes, apparently believing that the eyeballs were eggs stolen from its nest.

  “Believe me, I won’t.” Pala walked along under the trees, leaped over a brook, and stopped at the edge of a meadow. The stars were shining overhead, and there was a rumbling sound and a flash of lights as a big Corellian freighter dove toward the Mos Espa spaceport.

  The pleasure garden was much larger than Pala would have thought possible. It had a forest, a swamp, waterfalls, and a small lake. Ahead was a collection of standing stones, carved to look like stern faces. “There’s a little amphitheater hidden in those rocks,” Arawynne said. “Someday I think Gardulla will have bands play at night here in the meadow.”

  Arawynne and Pala both hesitated before going out in the meadow. It was late, and the eye-snatcher bird was probably roosting. But it was a little scary to walk in that broad expanse. It would be so easy to be seen there, so easy to be spotted.

  “Anything to worry about in the meadow?” Pala asked.

  “There’s a vesuvague tree on the south end. It will drop a limb around your neck and try to strangle you if you don’t watch out.”

  Pala sighed. “There’s so much to remember.”

  “Remembering it can save your life in more ways than one,” Arawynne replied. “We’ve only been here a little while, but we’ve discovered that. The same plants that eat you will eat anyone who tries to catch you. If a slave trader is chasing you, all you have to do is lure him under the deneba bush.”

  “Knowing the dangers makes everything a little less scary,” Pala said. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

  Arawynne glanced back at Pala. “Do you think your friends can really do it? Will they help us get home?”

  “They’ll try,” Pala promised. But she couldn’t be sure. Her friends, also slaves on Tatooine, didn’t have the money they needed, and the slave hunters were closing in on Pala and the Ghostlings.

  At the edge of the clearing, a tall form appeared. It was the Ho’Din gardener Oo Wen. He was carrying a small pot with a sapling in his hand. The peaceful gardener saw the three girls together and waved at them, letting them know that it was safe to cross the clearing.

  The Ho’Din were nature lovers. Their very name means “walking flowers,” and they never harm any creature. Though he was Gardulla’s slave, Oo Wen would do anything to protect the girls.

  “Let’s go,” Arawynne said. “I’ll show you where I’ve hidden the children and teach you how to run the weather here in the garden. Oh — and I almost forgot — don’t try to pick any flowers in the meadow. They’re urchins, and will hurl sharp needles at you.”

  “Oh,” Pala answered wearily. She was beginning to dread this place. She hoped Anakin, Kitster, and Dorn would find a way for her to escape soon.

  Dorn was terrified when his master, Jabba the Hutt, summoned him to the throne room. Jabba often asked him for small favors — to follow one of Jabba’s subordinates, or to listen in on meetings that his competitors held in town. But Jabba had never publicly asked him to do anything. He’d always asked in secret. Being summoned was a bad sign.

  Dorn went to the throne room late that night and found the scene there to be like any other night. A band, Tulla Gladeyes and the Shrieking Squeebees, was playing. Many of Jabba’s followers hovered around, playing sabacc. The sweet, sharp scent of glitterstim spice hung in the air like a field of peppery flowers.

  There was a thrill of expectation in the air — Dorn could sense it. He was a spy, after all, and it was his job to gauge the moods of people. Right now, everyone was on edge. Jabba wanted entertainment, and the thing that amused him most was tormenting others.

  Dorn stepped up to the throne. Next to the throne was an old Hutt with a gray beard, curly white hair, and a wrinkled face. Dorn had never seen a Hutt old enough to have a beard.

  “Dorn,” Jabba said in Huttese as he approached, “you’ve met my father, Zorba?”

  Dorn glanced up at the old crime lord. “I have never had the pleasure,” Dorn answered, “though I have heard of his legendary exploits. I am honored, Great One.”

  “So you are,” Zorba said in an impossibly deep voice.

  Dorn bowed low and waited for Jabba to speak. All eyes in the room were upon them, and Dorn sensed that he was about to step into a trap.

  “My father has need of a spy, and he will pay well for the services,” Jabba said. “I have recommended you for the job.”

  “I am honored,” Dorn said.

  “As you should be,” Jabba said. “The job would take you away from Tatooine, and require you to travel widely on space liners. Would you be interested in such empl
oyment?”

  Dorn raised a long eyebrow and quickly tried to figure out what the job might be. Perhaps he would merely be watching spaceships load and unload, so that he would know which cargo ships Zorba’s pirate crews were to hit. Maybe he would be traveling around, trying to figure out which public officials would need to be blackmailed or bribed. “I would be interested,” he said.

  “Good,” Jabba replied. “There are a few problems that we would have to overcome first.”

  “Problems?” Dorn asked.

  “In your new capacity,” Zorba said, “you would be a free man, not a slave.”

  Dorn’s heart raced with excitement at the thought.

  “But we must consider how to make this transition to freedom,” Jabba said. “We must discover how loyal you are.”

  “I am completely loyal,” Dorn said evenly.

  Jabba and Zorba looked at one another as if they had expected him to say those very words. “So you say,” Zorba observed. “But like all Bothans, you are an expert in communication. So tell me, what am I thinking?”

  Dorn glanced at the Hutt and said, “You have set a trap for me, and hope to watch me writhe. It amuses you, and makes you hungry to see another creature suffer. You are doubly amused because I am aware that you mean to destroy me.”

  Zorba and Jabba laughed, deep booming laughs. “You see,” Jabba said, “he is as good as I told you.”

  “You understand our problem," Zorba went on in Huttese. “You can read a creature’s body language as if you were reading a datapad. And of course, expert in hiding information from others. So how can I trust you when you promise to be loyal to me — someone who has not earned your loyalty. I have no way of knowing whether you tell the truth.”

  “You could probe me,” Dorn said.

  “Bothans often fool probe droids,” Zorba said. “I have no doubt that you could do it. So I propose a test of your loyalty, instead.”

  “There are some slave children who have annoyed my colleague Gardulla,” Jabba said. “They freed some Ghostling children from her. You know one of them — the Twi’lek girl, Pala. So far, she and her cohorts have eluded all of the efforts of Gardulla and Sebulba to catch them.”

  “I heard about it,” Dorn admitted. Clearly Jabba knew that Dorn and Pala were friends. “But I don’t know where Pala has taken the children.”

  Dorn held his breath, hoping that Jabba would swallow the lie. But the foul Hutt was cleverer than that.

  “Of course you had nothing to do with this madness,” Jabba said. “And I’m sure that you have no idea where to find the slaves. But you are trained as a spy, and you are her friend. It should be easy for you to find these runaway slaves. You need merely check with her other friends, and slaves who might help her try to escape.”

  Dorn felt the trap, like a noose tightening around his neck. He could see in Jabba’s excited mannerisms, expansive gestures, and too-loud voice that this is what the Hutt was getting at.

  He was making Dorn an offer: Betray your friends, and you will be rewarded. It was a nice piece of bait. The worst part about this was that Dorn sensed that Jabba was being honest. He really would give Dorn his freedom for betraying his closest friends.

  Now Jabba smiled grimly. “But know this, little one. I will not allow failure on your part. You have until sunset to discover the whereabouts of Pala and the Ghostlings. If you do not report back to me by then, I will assume that you have betrayed me.”

  “So,” Dorn said, “you would force me to betray either you, or a friend?”

  “It will do you good to learn to betray a friend,” Jabba said. “In your line of work, it will happen often.”

  It was a cruel bargain. Dorn would have to choose between death and dishonor. He bowed low and smiled, as if eager to prove himself. “I will find the slaves for you before sundown,” he promised.

  Dorn had hardly left the throne room when Sebulba and his henchmen crept out of the shadows from a curtained hallway.

  “Do you think he’ll lead us to them?” Sebulba asked.

  “Impossible to say,” Jabba said. “Follow the boy. If he leads you straight to the slaves, it means that he has been in league with them all along. In that case, his life will be forfeit, and you will owe me.”

  “I can always find you another Bothan boy,” Sebulba offered.

  “I’ve invested a great deal in training this one,” Jabba protested. “You will owe me more than just a slave.”

  Sebulba was tired of this. These children had cost him far too much money already. They’d freed the Ghostlings, blown up part of Gardulla’s fortress, and ruined equipment. He wasn’t about to promise Jabba any more money. “Bet on me in the next Podrace,” Sebulba offered. “You’ll make back far more than you lose today.”

  Anakin was asleep in his room. In the dark cubby above his sleep mat was an array of old junk — a dragon tooth he’d found in the desert, a rusty comlink, and the ancient box he’d bought at the Jawa flea market.

  Suddenly, something beeped.

  The sound roused Anakin from sleep. For a long moment, he suspected that it was the strange box he’d bought from the dark-robed Jawa.

  But a flashing light caught his attention. It was the rusted comlink. No one had ever called him on the old piece of junk — no one except Dorn or Kitster.

  Anakin picked it up and flipped it on. The comlink was indeed old, but Anakin had gotten it working. In fact, he’d fitted it with a scrambler, so that no one would be able to intercept the signal. He’d done it for fun, never imagining that he might actually need the thing.

  “Are you there?” a voice came over the comlink. “It’s me, Dorn.”

  “Yeah,” Anakin said. He could tell by Dorn’s voice that something was wrong.

  “I’ve got a problem,” Dorn said. “Jabba knows that I’m friends with Pala. If I don’t turn her in by nightfall, and help him recover the Ghostling children, he’ll feed me to the Sarlacc.”

  “Oh no!” Anakin said.

  “Maybe the slavers can take me off planet, too,” Dorn suggested.

  According to Jira, smugglers would arrive at sunset to pick up Pala and the Ghostling children. Many slaves were donating money from their savings to help get the children off the planet.

  Did the smugglers have room for Dorn? Anakin couldn’t bear to imagine what would happen if they didn’t.

  “Meet me at noon, in the usual place,” Anakin said. “I’ll have a signal jammer for you, like the one I gave to Pala. I’ll run some errands for Watto so he won’t mind that I’m gone.”

  “Anakin,” Dorn said, “no matter what happens, I won’t tell. Jabba can’t make me tell.”

  “I know.” Anakin turned off the comlink and blinked through tired eyes. He was exhausted and afraid.

  He’d had a dream before he woke. He suddenly remembered it now, vividly. He’d dreamt of a tall man with intense eyes, wearing a tan poncho. He’d dreamt that the man wore a lightsaber and had come to take him from Tatooine.

  It had been a grand dream, full of hope. It was the kind of thing that he knew couldn’t happen to a slave kid like him. And yet a part of him wanted to believe...

  But Dorn and Pala were the ones who needed to be rescued now.

  Pala woke at dawn. She was deep in a grotto in the forest. It was still mostly dark, but she could see light slipping between the roots of the tree. All around her, the roots twisted up overhead, forming a fantastic cavern. Mossy lichens hung like hair from the strange roots, and many small animals made their homes here, including a few Wisties, which lay asleep on the knobby roots.

  The Ghostling children were obviously used to life in a forest. They’d woven reeds together to make mats, and they’d hung some in the roots, forming walls that would hide their little home and keep out pests. They’d also set some small traps. Vines woven in the grass would trip anyone who came running toward the hideout — if the sharp sticks on the trail didn’t puncture their feet first.

  The place made Pala feel s
afe.

  She heard a noise at the opening that served as a door. A Ghostling boy appeared, smiling. Like all Ghostlings, he was small and wiry. He had an infectious grin and bright green eyes. He glowed with a soft light, as if the sun chose to shine on him when it could reach no other place in this drab grotto. “I picked you some farrberries,” he said. “I found ’em in the garden.”

  “Where did you find these?” Pala asked as she gulped a big purple berry.

  “Over by that big hollow log, where the tempter hides.”

  A tempter was an animal that hid in logs or small caves. It would stick out its long furry tongue and flip it around, so that it looked like an offworld snake, writhing in pain. As soon as any animal pounced on the tongue, the tempter’s long neck would surge out from the hollow log and its powerful teeth would chomp down on its attacker.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go back for any more berries,” Pala suggested. “The tempter is bound to catch you.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” the boy said. “We’re going home tonight. And we have to spend the day on watch.”

  “On watch?”

  “For slave hunters. I’ll show you.”

  Pala crawled through the thick roots and the boy pointed up. High in the tree, she could see a Ghostling girl perched on a limb, staring out.

  “How did she get way up there?” Pala asked.

  “She climbed.”

  Pala couldn’t believe that a child could climb so high by herself. But then she remembered that Ghostlings were remarkable in many ways. They were frail, but they were great climbers and had sharp eyes and ears. They were made to live in forests.

  “From up there,” the boy said, “we can see all the way to the meadow, and beyond that to the door. If anyone but the Ho’Din comes in, she’ll warn us. Princess Arawynne will lead any slave hunters into the traps, while the rest of us gather at the air vent.”

  Pala had seen the vent. It was big enough for someone to walk through, as long as the sharp-bladed fans were turned off.

  The traps would need to be set.