by Jason Fry
Luke took a step backward, raising his lightsaber. The remotes rushed forward, thinking he meant to resume the exercise. Luke slipped on a loose flagstone, nearly falling to his knees. He looked from the flagstone to Sarco in sudden realization.
“The Force wasn’t warning me about the stormtroopers,” he said. “It was warning me about you.”
“Oh no,” Threepio moaned.
“The Force,” Sarco said. “So you’re a Jedi, then? I don’t think so. I remember them from when I was small—you don’t have their skills. So what are you? What was the word the sorcerers used, before the Empire came for them? Padawan—that was it. So that’s what you are—a learner. An apprentice. But what good’s an apprentice without a master?”
Sarco skirted the edge of a pit, walking toward Luke like he had all the time in the world. Luke found his feet assuming ready position, noting with relief that the remotes had finally concluded something other than a training exercise was taking place.
“Nobody’s Padawan, the last apprentice of an extinct religion,” Sarco said. “Care for a duel?”
Luke felt his anger rising. Sarco had proposed the one thing he wanted most—a chance to show off his new skills and show the arrogant alien what a mistake he’d made.
He exhaled slowly, lightsaber held at his waist, as Sarco spun his staff in a blur of deadly purple.
“I should thank you, Nobody’s Padawan,” he said. “I’ve been looking for a way into this place for years—and now you’ve been good enough to find one for me.”
“And now you know there’s nothing left here for you to steal.”
Sarco’s vocoder erupted in amused static.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Nobody’s Padawan. The Empire bombed the temple, but the vaults and storerooms below are intact. I’ve got debts to pay, and what’s beneath our feet will take care of that and more. Pity you won’t get to see the wealth your precious sorcerers left behind.”
“The Jedi didn’t stockpile wealth like that,” Luke said. “The only treasures here are what’s around you.”
Sarco turned his chitinous mask to take in the broken statues and uprooted flagstones, then returned his scrutiny to Luke.
“Do you know what I’m going to do after I defeat you, Nobody’s Padawan?” he asked. “First I’ll sell whatever’s left of you to the governor. Then I’ll sell your fighter and melt those droids into scrap. As for your saber, it will fetch good credits from some collector. Or perhaps I’ll keep it as one of my trophies.”
“None of those things is going to happen,” Luke said, and leapt forward, lightsaber held over his head.
SARCO FELL BACK, and Luke’s vicious downward cut bit into the flagstones, sending up sparks. The alien held his staff up to parry as Luke stalked him.
“You don’t know the first thing about Jedi,” Luke said. “Starting with their weapons.”
Sarco raised his staff, and Luke brought the saber down, expecting the ancient weapon to cleave the Scavenger’s staff in two. But the saber met resistance as Sarco’s staff caught the blade and held it, sending a shock up Luke’s arms. Sarco gave way, and Luke stumbled forward. Then the alien kicked the young rebel in the face, sending him sprawling.
“You ruffian!” yelled Threepio.
“This is an electrostaff, Nobody’s Padawan,” Sarco said as Luke struggled to his feet, spitting out blood. “A useful tool—and one designed to kill Jedi.”
Farnay looked around the courtyard in desperation. Luke hoped she wouldn’t try anything foolish—the Scavenger would kill her with barely a thought.
Sarco leapt forward, the electrostaff whining with what sounded like a terrible glee. Luke got his lightsaber up and knocked the weapon aside, but Sarco followed him, sweeping at his stomach with the staff. Luke turned aside as Sarco charged and aimed a slash at the alien’s back—but Sarco had anticipated the attack and batted Luke’s blade away, leaping over a crater in the glade and turning to regard his opponent.
“It’s a pity,” he said. “In a couple of years you might have passed for a Jedi. But now you’re just a boy with a blade you’re not worthy of. A dreamer, Marcus. Pretending to be something you’re not.”
“The Force is with me,” Luke said. “That’s more than you’ll ever have.”
He carved a figure eight in the air in front of him, telling himself to let the Force guide his hand. Sarco stepped back, then tried to dodge around Luke’s defenses. Quicker than thought, Luke’s lightsaber was there to meet the electrostaff, pushing Sarco back.
The alien grunted and spun away from Luke’s blade, tumbling forward and then leaping at Luke’s unprotected back, electrostaff wailing. But the blow never landed—and then the brilliant blue blade was slashing at Sarco’s head. He caught the blade on his staff and scrambled aside, the bristles on his arms rising and falling as if they were breathing hard.
“Not bad, Nobody’s Padawan,” he said. “Your teacher would praise you. If you had a teacher.”
Again Sarco attacked, electrostaff thrust in front of him like a spear. Luke knocked the tip aside, but Sarco’s charge was too powerful to deflect. He ducked, and Sarco stumbled past, Luke’s lightsaber flashing behind him and nicking the back of the alien’s leg.
Sarco grunted, one chitinous hand going to the cut on his thigh. His cilia flailed back and forth, and the hairs on his arms spasmed.
Farnay scrambled to Artoo’s side. He beeped at her in dismay.
“No more games, boy,” Sarco said, touching a button on the control box that sat on his chest. Motors squealed and a hidden shield emerged from inside his helmet, covering his chitinous face. He opened a pouch on his tool belt and extracted a small black sphere.
“Master Luke, look out!” Threepio yelped as Sarco tossed the object at Luke—some kind of grenade, he thought.
Luke watched it calmly, his lightsaber already moving to intercept it. Interrupting the grenade’s trajectory would be easy enough.
But that wasn’t the Scavenger’s plan.
The grenade detonated at the apex of its flight, a meter before Luke would have sliced it in two.
A blinding flash of light and a thunderclap of noise filled the courtyard. The concussion knocked Luke backward into the overflow from the fountain. He staggered to his feet, lightsaber in hand, blood running from his nose.
Luke blinked furiously, then stared straight ahead.
Sarco put a finger to his chest, and his face shield contracted back into his helmet. He took two steps to the right, spinning his staff. Luke kept staring in the same direction, his knees shaking.
“Hey!” Sarco called. “Nobody’s Padawan!”
Luke didn’t react to the words. He held the lightsaber in front of him, blinking desperately, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve with an uncertain, jittery movement. He staggered to the left, then to the right, then fell to his knees, struggling to lift his head.
“You’ve blinded him!” Threepio shrieked. “He can’t see or hear! It isn’t a fair fight!”
“Who said it would be?” Sarco asked the droid. “Be quiet and maybe I’ll sell you and your little friend instead of pulling you apart.”
Luke scrambled to his feet, swinging his lightsaber wildly, then crashed to the ground again.
“Such feeble senses—so easily disabled,” Sarco said.
Static coughed out of the alien’s vocoder. He walked slowly around the fallen Jedi, raising his deadly electrostaff as if he meant to ram it into Luke’s back. He held it a few centimeters from Luke, then drew it away, turning in the direction of Farnay and the droids.
“Good news—I’ve decided not to sell your master to the Empire,” he said. “I’m going to keep him as one of my own trophies instead. I can’t wait to hear him scream.”
“Oh no,” Threepio said. “My poor master.”
Sarco once again brought the staff to within a few centimeters of the back of Luke’s head, prompting a gasp from Farnay and an electronic squeal from Artoo.
“I c
an’t bear to watch,” Threepio said.
Stones rattled nearby. Threepio looked up and saw the pikhron matriarch scrambling back into the glade over the pile of rubble, followed by the other beasts. The matriarch stared at the alien and the stricken rebel and snorted, pawing at the grass.
“Even better,” Sarco said. “When I’m done with your master I’ll take these foolish beasts’ hides and teeth.”
The Scavenger walked around to face Luke. The young rebel was on his knees, blinking furiously. He waved his lightsaber weakly in front of him, and Sarco took a half step back, the movement relaxed and casual.
“You’ll never see it coming,” Sarco purred, raising the electrostaff like a club.
A laser bolt zipped past the alien’s head. He spun away, electrostaff held in front of him. Then he turned, the bristles on his arms twitching.
“Get away from him, Scavenger,” Farnay said, holding Luke’s blaster pistol in front of her.
The bristles on Sarco’s arms fluttered.
“Foolish brat,” he said, walking around Luke toward the girl. “You’ve interfered with me for the last time.”
“Stop,” Farnay said. “Put down your weapon or I’ll shoot you.”
Sarco strode forward, electrostaff held to one side. He spun it idly in his hand.
“You mean this weapon?” he asked.
“Not another step,” Farnay said, trying to hold Luke’s pistol steady. “I mean it.”
Sarco broke into a run. Farnay fired at him, one shot nearly clipping his shoulder, before he leveled her with a forearm. Her gun went flying, and a moment later Sarco had slapped binders on her wrists, behind her back. He threw her to the ground and held the electrostaff near her throat.
“Let her alone, you brute!” Threepio yelped.
“Five seconds’ contact and your heart will stop,” Sarco told Farnay, cilia quivering eagerly. “Shall I do it here? Or take you back to Tikaroo so your worthless father can watch?”
“Leave…leave her alone.”
The voice was weak and came from some distance behind Sarco. He pulled his staff back from Farnay’s throat. Luke had gotten to his feet and was holding his saber in front of him. But the young rebel was still facing the wrong way, disoriented.
Static bubbled out of Sarco’s vocoder. He picked up Luke’s blaster and tucked it into his belt.
“You’re a determined one, Marcus,” he said. “But it’s a little too late for that Force of yours. Enough foolishness—time to end this.”
He gave Farnay a contemptuous kick and strode across the courtyard, electrostaff aimed at Luke’s back.
WHEN THE GRENADE went off, Luke found himself in darkness, with no sound except the ringing in his ears. He got to his feet, feeling the familiar weight of his father’s lightsaber in his hand. But he could barely stand. He tried to call on the Force, begging it to keep him on his feet, but his senses were clouded by fear and pain.
He could sense Sarco somewhere nearby—but where he couldn’t say. One moment it felt like he was in front of Luke, the next behind. Luke staggered and fell to his knees, his heartbeat hammering in his head. All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep—sleep for ages and ages.
If you go to sleep you’ll never wake up, he told himself. Or if you do, you’ll wish you never had.
He reached out with the Force. He could feel the malignant throb of Sarco, like a darker stain on the void around him. He could feel the birds and insects of the glade—they’d retreated to a safe distance, their wariness pulsing in the Force. He could feel the agitated presence of the pikhrons.
And he could feel Farnay, her energy spiky and jagged with terror.
He got shakily to his feet again, gasping for Sarco to leave the girl alone. He couldn’t hear his own voice.
Help me, Ben Kenobi, he thought. Somebody help me.
He could feel Sarco nearby, but he didn’t know where. Luke raised his lightsaber to the ready position. He knew it was a useless gesture, but it was all he could do.
“Let go, Luke,” said Ben’s voice. “Your eyes and ears can deceive you. But the Force is all-seeing.”
Farnay began to scream when Sarco got within a meter of Luke’s unprotected back. The pikhrons looked up, jerking their heads up and down as they pawed at the grass.
Sarco twirled his electrostaff in lazy contemplation. Thrusting the weapon into the boy’s spine would knock him unconscious for several hours, and it would be a day or more before he could use his legs. By then it would be far too late for him. He’d take the girl and the droids back into the jungle with him, then wait for the Empire to search for its missing squad. When they were gone, he’d have all the time he needed to loot the temple.
Luke began to swing his lightsaber wildly, a desperate defense against an enemy who wasn’t there. Standing safely behind him, Sarco spun his staff lazily.
“Monster,” Farnay spat, yanking futilely at her binders.
Sarco had had enough. He raised his staff, attention fixed on the motionless rebel’s unprotected back, on the perfect spot to drive his weapon home.
The Scavenger didn’t bother to react when the blinded boy slashed uselessly at the empty air to his left. But then Luke continued the movement, repositioning his feet perfectly as he spun around. The lightsaber moved at incredible speed with all of Luke’s weight behind it, its path a perfect arc that remained smooth and graceful even as the blue-white blade ripped through Sarco’s chest.
The bristles on Sarco’s arms stood straight out and he screeched. His fingers opened, and the electrostaff fell from them, setting the grass afire.
The alien’s hand groped at his chest. Luke’s blade had slashed through the control box, leaving a ragged wound in Sarco’s chest. One tube flapped freely, a pale green fluid gushing from it. The smell—thick and nauseatingly sweet—reached Luke’s nose.
Sarco staggered a step to the right, then tottered two steps to the left. Luke stood facing him, eyes unseeing, braced for another attack.
Sarco drew Luke’s pistol, aiming it between the rebel’s eyes. The gun wavered in the Scavenger’s hand as he fought to concentrate, distracted by a sudden hammering sound nearby.
The pikhrons were charging across the glen, trumpeting in fury.
The great beasts’ massive sides passed within a few centimeters of Luke as he stood in the glade. He didn’t move—the Force told him he was safe, just as it had guided his hand at the moment of gravest peril.
Sarco fired at the onrushing pikhrons, but the volley of shots merely bounced off the matriarch’s thick hide. He backed up—and his foot found empty air. He hung for a moment on the lip of one of the pits gouged in the courtyard, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to regain his balance. But it was too late. The Scavenger’s last scream lingered behind him as he fell into darkness.
Water.
Luke could feel water—cool, soothing water. It was on his forehead, and his cheeks, and then his chin.
He gasped, opening his eyes to look into the face of Farnay, who was sponging his forehead with a wet cloth.
“You’re alive,” she said.
For a moment Luke wondered if that was true. He had spots in his vision, the blood was hammering in his ears, and he felt like his head was going to split in two. But it was true—he was alive.
Binders hung from Farnay’s wrists, the link broken by a cutting torch. Behind the Devaronian girl he could see Threepio and Artoo staring down at him in concern. Around the four of them the pikhrons stood in a protective ring.
“How…how did you get here?” Luke managed.
“I followed you and the Scavenger,” Farnay said. “He stayed to wait for you. I didn’t know what to do, so I went home—just in time to get caught by the stormtroopers. I didn’t have any choice, Luke—they would have hurt my dad if I hadn’t come with them. Oh, I messed everything up, didn’t I?”
“Messed everything up? You saved my life.”
“You did that yourself,” Farnay said with a small smil
e. “I didn’t know the Scavenger had followed you into the cave.”
“I guess he wanted the bounty on me,” Luke said.
“He wanted you for his collection,” Farnay said, and Luke thought back to the gloomy clearing and the half-buried bones. “As well as whatever he could steal from the temple. The Empire must be trying to contact the troopers by now—they’ll be overdue. Can you stand?”
“I’ll crawl if I have to,” Luke said, getting shakily to his feet with Threepio and Farnay’s help and clipping his lightsaber to his belt.
“I thought you were dead,” Farnay said. “How did you do that?”
Luke smiled.
“The Force showed me my enemy. As well as my friends.”
He stretched his hand out to the pikhron matriarch, stroking her scaly muzzle. She closed her eyes and sighed, and Luke bowed his head to her, then to the rest of the creatures standing around them.
“Go on now,” Luke said gently. “You don’t want to be here when the Empire comes back.”
The matriarch snorted and began to make her way toward the pile of rubble, the rest of her clan falling in line behind her. One by one the great beasts climbed over the debris and disappeared.
Artoo whistled urgently.
“Master Luke, Artoo says he’s detecting the sound of ion engines,” Threepio said.
“We’d better go,” Luke said.
Sarco’s electrostaff lay in the grass, deactivated. At either end a circle of grass was burnt black. Luke bent and picked up the weapon, eyeing it with distaste, then walked cautiously to the edge of the pit and peered into it.
He saw nothing but darkness. But there was a faint tickle in the back of his brain, like an unpleasant smell one could just detect. And he knew the Scavenger was alive.
Let him rot then, Luke thought. Down there with the imaginary treasure he wanted so badly.
He threw the electrostaff into the pit. He heard the rattle of its fall, then silence.
TIE fighters shrieked somewhere overhead. Luke nodded to Farnay, and they hurried out of the courtyard as fast as Luke’s still shaky legs could carry him, the droids trailing behind. The great hall was lit with shafts of late-afternoon sun, casting the shapes of the Jedi statues in shadow on the far wall. The shadows looked whole, Luke thought.
