Star Wars - Episode I Adventures 005 - The Ghostling Children

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

  On the planet Datar, the forest was filled with light. Three moons rode the sky — three disks of purest silver. They spilled their light like cool water upon the twisted green limbs of the bayah trees. The light dribbled from dark leaves, pooled in the mossy glens, and cascaded in bright droplets on the forest floor.

  Creepers dangled from the tree limbs — long vines dripping with huge horn-shaped flowers that opened to the night. On those vines crept blaze bugs, whose backs glowed as bright as coals in a fire. They trundled along the vines from flower to flower, drinking the evening nectar.

  The land was nearly silent under the trees. All that could be heard was a mother, gently singing:

  “Sleep well, my child, tonight.

  Though the forest is filled with light,

  Close your sweet eyes,

  While the sun flies

  Over the mountains. Good night.”

  Djas Puhr crept through the dark, and stopped to peer toward the source of the singing.

  He didn’t need his acute night vision on this mission. Datar’s moons and the blaze bugs provided ample light. Any bumbling fool could have crept quietly through these woods — except perhaps his companion, Gondry. Djas Puhr’s feet made no sound as he moved. The moss beneath him was as thick as a carpet, and the Ghostlings that lived nearby had cleared all the branches from the forest floor.

  Djas Puhr pulled his dark robes close and crept toward the singing. The mother’s voice was small and high, like the sound of a stone flute from Djas Puhr’s homeworld of Sakiya. He’d not been prepared for the loveliness of her voice.

  The beauty of the Ghostlings was legendary. Their bright skin seemed to glow with a light of its own. Their faces inspired people from many planets, and in the daylight their eyes twinkled like gems.

  Ahead, hanging vines were woven into a huge nest, forming a bowl. The nest hung tantalizingly close to the ground, only two meters up. The singing came from inside.

  The nest glowed dully in a color that humans cannot see, a color that was given off by the heat of a living body. To Djas Puhr, it looked as if the nest was bathed in faint silvery flames.

  All around, farther up in the trees, hung dozens more nests, each the size of a door. Djas Puhr had stumbled upon a Ghostling village.

  He thumbed his wrist communicator. “Target acquired. Home in on my beacon. And if you mess this up again, I’ll blast you.”

  From the communicator came an answer — a rumbling growl.

  Djas Puhr backed away from the Ghostling village and blended into the trees. He was good at that. The planet Sakiya bred supreme hunters. His black robes and ebony skin allowed him to disappear into the night. His powerful eyes allowed him to see his prey as it slept, even through walls. His keen sense of smell allowed him to hunt creatures that tried to flee.

  He did not have to wait long for Gondry to arrive. The giant from the harsh planet Byss came bumbling through the forest, blinking and gaping about with his one huge eye.

  Djas Puhr sprung out from under the shadows and grabbed the giant’s wrist to keep him from blundering into the village.

  “Stop,” Djas Puhr whispered. “The target is straight ahead.”

  The giant squinted his huge eye and moved his head from side to side as he tried to see. “Hwaargh?” Where?

  “The nest is hanging just off the forest floor, a hundred and fifty meters ahead,” Djas Puhr whispered. “There are two Ghostlings inside — a mother and her child. Take only the child. And be careful: the child is worth nothing to our master if you crush it!”

  Ghostlings were terribly frail. To merely touch one of the small creatures could bruise it, and a weak blow would shatter its bones. Gondry was such a huge, clumsy creature that Djas Puhr had to constantly remind him to be careful.

  Djas Puhr did not like having to repeat his simple instructions. He and Gondry had already gathered six Ghostling children tonight.

  Overhead, a creeper hung low. A blaze bug had reached a horn-shaped flower, and now the soft white flower petals caught and reflected the bug’s red light so that the whole flower shone like a lamp.

  Gondry absently reached up and grabbed the blaze bug, squashing it between two fingers. It burst into flames with a scent like sulfur, burning his fingers like a match. The giant didn’t seem to mind the pain.

  “Stop that,” Djas Puhr whispered. “You’ll attract attention. Grab the child, and let’s get out of here.”

  The giant growled, then strode through the thick moss with a thud, thud, thud. Only a cyclops from Byss could have managed to make so much noise.

  Fortunately, Gondry didn’t wake the Ghostlings — not until he reached into the nest and grabbed the child. A girl suddenly wriggled and cried in Gondry’s huge paws. Her mother began to shriek, “Help! Help!”

  Gondry pulled the child from the nest.

  Ghostling men shouted in horror and appeared at the mouths of their own nests. Though they were small, they moved rapidly. Some of Ghostlings produced bows and began shooting arrows at Gondry. Others brought out miniature stun blasters that shot bright blue bolts of electricity. Still others hurled blaze bugs that shot out a bolt on impact, like fiery little bombs.

  Gondry took an arrow in the back and bellowed. The giant yanked a branch of the tree, and the nests began to sway wildly, as if in a storm. The movement ruined the aim of the Ghostlings. The warriors were forced to grab onto their swaying nests to keep from falling.

  Gondry plodded off, child in hand, as the Ghostlings continued hurling their blaze bugs and shooting as best they could.

  In moments, the Ghostlings hit Gondry with half a dozen arrows. He took a couple of stun bolts, too.

  But cyclopses of Byss were notoriously hard to kill. Gondry could heal himself in moments. He could even regrow arms and legs.

  The tiny arrows didn’t even slow him. Blaze bugs exploded harmlessly on his skin. He strode rapidly toward the spaceship. Djas Puhr ran to catch him.

  They left the Ghostling village far behind.

  In moments, they reached the ship of Sebulba the Dug. They rushed up the gangplank. Djas Puhr shouted to his master, “We’ve got the last child. Let’s get out of here!”

  Djas Puhr carried the girl down to the hold and placed her in an energy cage with the others they’d caught that night.

  She fell down and lay holding her side, as if in pain. Djas Puhr worried that they might have killed her by accident, or perhaps broken some bones. If so, Sebulba would be mad.

  Gondry began pulling arrows from his backside.

  The ship trembled as the engines started. It lifted off quickly, and tore through the night air; in moments it burst into hyperspace with a familiar thud.

  Moments later, Sebulba walked into the hold on his hands.

  The Dug inspected the Ghostling. She was a small girl, with hair as silver as moonlight, and piercing violet eyes. Her pointed ears laid back flat against her head. She didn’t look very old, perhaps seven or eight.

  When she moved into the light, Djas Puhr could see that she had a huge purple bruise on her arm.

  Sebulba began cursing in Huttese. “Gondry, yo
u fool, you could have killed her — and she’s the most beautiful of all!” As Sebulba spoke, the feelers over his jaw quivered with anger.

  “Hwaree,” the giant said, hanging his head. Sorry. Gondry’s arrow wounds had already closed. He healed that fast.

  “We could throw her back and try again?” Djas Puhr offered. “The Ghostlings are not hard to catch.”

  “No,” Sebulba grumbled. “The bruises will heal, I suspect.” The Dug racer gazed deep into the child’s eyes. “Do you have a name, pretty one?”

  To Djas Puhr’s surprise, the child spoke to him. “Arawynne,” she said. “Princess Arawynne.”

  “Princess no more —” Sebulba corrected her. “Now, slave Arawynne.”

  In the city of Mos Espa, the twin suns of Tatooine cut through a darkened doorway of Madame Vansitt’s Charm Academy and threw overlapped shadows on the floor. The day was as hot as an oven outside. A wild man stood in the doorway with sweat beading on his forehead.

  A slave girl named Pala knelt on the floor and sneaked a peek at the man before her. He was tall and cruel-looking, with lips turned down in a permanent sneer. His long hair was mostly the color of copper, with streaks of gold and silver thrown in. A knotted leather band held his hair back in a warrior’s ponytail.

  His strong arms were covered with three-dimensional tattoos of strange beasts, and he wore a long gray tunic made of Firrerean silk, tied at the waist with a golden belt. The belt held a heavy blaster on one side, a long jeweled dagger on the other.

  He sneered down at Pala with cruel eyes, and did not say a word as Pala’s owner, Madame Vansitt, pointed out Pala’s finer selling points. Pala kept her pale green hands folded neatly in her lap, and her golden eyes stared at the floor. She was a Twi’lek from the planet Ryloth, so she tried to make sure that her headtails didn’t twitch nervously.

  “Pala is a very cunning child, Lord Tantos,” Madame Vansitt said in her best selling voice. “She’s been trained in all of the courtly arts — dance, song, conversation. She’ll make a fine wife for your son someday.”

  “Yes, yes,” Lord Tantos said impatiently, scowling down at Pala. “But my son will have no need for conversation.”

  “She is of course adept at espionage,” Madame Vansitt pointed out. “She’ll make a valuable spy. And she’s been trained in the finer arts of bribery and blackmail.”

  Lord Tantos smiled at Madame unkindly. His eyes were the most amazing color of turquoise. His pale skin was covered with darker blotches, something that was common among Firrereans. “But it is said that you train assassins.”

  “She’s had training in hand-to-hand combat,” Madame Vansitt replied. “And she’s good with poisons.”

  “What of real battle training? Can she use a blaster, a blade?”

  “I don’t teach that here. My girls are trained not to attract attention. Such crude weapons are not for women who will be traveling in political circles.”

  Pala sneaked another look at her prospective buyer. She didn’t like this man. He was brutal, dangerous.

  Please don’t buy me, she thought, hoping the barbarian would pass her by. She knew what he’d want. He’d want her to travel on luxury cruisers or trade ships as a spy. That way, she could tell him which ships were carrying valuable cargo. Then he’d attack the richest ships — while she was on board.

  He’d probably have her sabotage the defense and weapons systems before he boarded. But sometimes there would be huge blaster battles. It was dangerous work, far more dangerous than what Pala was trained for.

  It was the kind of work that would lead to an early death.

  “She’s afraid of me,” Lord Tantos said, studying Pala. “Terrified.”

  "Perhaps,” Madame Vansitt agreed. “You are, after all, one of the most feared pirate lords in the galaxy. Maybe you should look again at some of the older girls, some who have more courage.”

  Lord Tantos smiled cruelly. “No, I like it when my slaves are afraid of me. It is a sign of intelligence.” Lord Tantos stepped forward and lifted Pala’s chin. He stared for a long moment. Her heart pounded. “I’ll pick her up in the morning, the day after tomorrow.”

  Madame Vansitt clapped her hands as a signal for Pala to go to her room and pack her few belongings. The girl did so quickly, then went to look for her friend, Anakin Skywalker.

  “Anakin!” Kitster shouted as he rushed into the junk shop. “Anakin!”

  Anakin was in the back, tearing the power converter out of an old probe droid. He set down his tools and hurried to see his friend.

  But before Anakin even got halfway, his owner, Watto, flew up to the door in an angry buzz. He hovered in front of Anakin, cutting off his path, and jabbed an angry finger at Kitster. Watto shouted in Huttese, “I’ve warned you not to hang around here. Don’t bother my slaves while they’re working!”

  “But, Master Watto,” Kitster said, lowering his eyes, “it’s important!”

  “Hah!” Watto spat. “Kid stuff. Nothing is more important than work!”

  “Podracing is,” Kitster said. “Sebulba and Gasgano both just flew into the spaceport. They’re unloading their racers now. Gasgano has some new engines, and I saw Sebulba’s men sneak a big crate into storage. I thought you should know!”

  Watto wrinkled his snout, then scratched at the stubble on his chin with grimy fingers. He flapped his wings and looked hard at Anakin. “Baaagh! Find out what’s in that crate, and get back here fast. I still have plenty of work for you to do!”

  “Wizard!” Anakin shouted. “Thank you, Master Watto.” Anakin was happy to get out of the junk shop, at least for a little while.

  He pulled on a hooded robe to shield him from the blistering sunlight, then rushed outside with Kitster.

  “I don’t like that Watto,” Kitster confided once they got out the door. “He makes you work too much. Even a slave needs to have some fun.”

  “I don’t mind,” Anakin said. It was true. He liked working on things, fixing things. Watto only had Anakin work so much because he was so good at it.

  The streets were nearly empty. Most humans and other creatures couldn’t bear the midday suns, so they rushed from the shelter of one cool building to another. Only a few eopies clustered in the shadows of the buildings, while Jawas ambled about. Anakin prided himself on the fact that he could bear the heat better than other humans did. Maybe that was because he’d been on Tatooine so long.

  In practically no time they reached Mos Espa’s docking bay. The white pour-stone buildings gleamed in the sunlight, hurting Anakin’s eyes.

  Inside the port, the shade felt cool and luxurious. Kitster led Anakin to the docking bays, to Gasgano’s Podracer. Anakin scanned it quickly. It had a new engine and a couple of components had been rebuilt. “Aw, there’s nothing important here,” Anakin said quickly.

  “You sure?” Kitster asked.

  “Yeah,” Anakin replied. It wasn’t that he’d inspected the Podracer that closely — he could just feel that there wasn’t anything new.

  The boys rushed over to Sebulba’s huge freighter. Sebulba’s pit crew milled outside the ship, while droids unloaded small crates.

  Sebulba was the star of the Podracing circuit. He always traveled with a crowd of agents, managers, lawyers, bodyguards, and mechanics. He had chefs to feed him and Twi’lek dancing girls to massage him before a race. Slaves carried his baggage.

  “Cool!” Anakin said as he gaped at the spectacle. Sebulba’s freighter was so big it could have hauled three Podracers.

  Spectators crowded around the ship — slaves, curious competitors, and fans. Some burly Gamorrean guards in armor kept the onlookers back.

  Anakin and Kitster expertly wiggled through the crowd until they were up front. Anakin’s friends were already there — a young girl named Amee, a Rodian named Wald, a Bothan boy with long whiskers named Dorn, and a slender Twi’lek girl named Pala.

  Anakin tried to edge up as close as he could to the ship. One green-skinned guard wrinkled his piggy snout
and snarled, motioning to keep back. He bared his tusklike teeth at Anakin and brandished a club.

  As repulsorlift jacks raised Sebulba’s Podracer from its berth, Anakin gazed up at it from below. In a glance he could tell that something had changed about Sebulba’s Pod. He could feel it.

  Sebulba waved at the crowd and began to stroll off, while his entourage followed. Before he left, he bared his teeth at Anakin in a menacing smile. “Ready to lose another race, filthy slave?”

  “Not to you,” Anakin said.

  Sebulba laughed and shouted at the pit crew that was lowering the vehicle, “Watch my Podracer carefully. Some young thief might steal something.” Sebulba shot Anakin a dirty look, then laughed again and walked away.

  Anakin fought back his anger. He’d never stolen anything in his life!

  He stared at the Podracer. Pods were fairly simple vehicles. The huge engines were mounted to a chassis just big enough for the driver. All the power went to hurtling the racer over the ground as fast as possible. The machines weren’t built with backup systems or safety features.

  Anakin studied Sebulba’s Pod. It had the same engines as last time, and the same housing. Anakin noticed a peculiar sheen on some chrome. “Wow, look at that!” Anakin suddenly exclaimed. “He’s got new stabilizers — Kuat 40-Zs. Those are loads better than anything I’ve got!”

  While Wald nodded at this, Pala didn’t seem to react. She seemed to be holding her breath; seemed to be nervous.

  Anakin turned toward her. Pala’s dark yellow eyes looked as hot as a blaster's flash. Her mouth was drawn down in a tight line, and her twin headtails were lashing back and forth, twitching nervously. Her pale greenish-blue face seemed flushed.

  “What's wrong?” Anakin asked. He took her hand, suddenly worried.

  “I’ve been sold,” Pala said. The news shocked Anakin. She’d been his friend for as long as he could remember.

  “Sold?” Kitster asked. “How come? Did you do something wrong?” Gardulla the Hutt owned Kitster, and was always threatening to sell him to the glitterstim miners if he didn’t shape up. Amee, Wald, and Dorn all huddled close to listen.