The Heist

by Disney Book Group

  The box shifted beneath their feet, changing direction.

  Lina turned to the Rodian. “Where are you taking us?”

  “Yeah,” Milo said. “And why did Vizago trap you in here, too?”

  Rom didn’t answer.

  “Can you understand me?” Milo said, speaking louder and slower. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

  “Rom not trapped,” the alien replied. “You not trapped, either.”

  “Well, it certainly looks that way to me,” CR-8R commented before a sudden jolt caused him to dip slightly on his repulsors. Milo fell back into Lina, who slipped her hand into his. They’d stopped moving.

  “Now what?” Lina asked.

  “Now you meet boss,” Rom informed her as the door slid open to reveal a long narrow room beyond. Without another word, the Rodian stepped out of the crate and onto thick carpet.

  “I assume we’re supposed to follow,” CR-8R said, and they did exactly that.

  The room had been constructed from four or five crates bolted together. It had the same lights in the ceiling, although the smooth walls were lined with exotic works of art. There were paintings of seascapes and underwater worlds. At the far end was a beautifully carved desk with a high-backed chair. Above the desk, half a dozen hovering platforms buzzed in the air like insects. Each held treasures of a bygone age. There were giant crystals, an ornate metal box, and an armored gauntlet. However, Milo’s eyes were fixed on the hulking figure that stood behind the desk.

  “Oh, my,” CR-8R said, his synthetic voice quivering. “An IG assassin droid.”

  “Yes, Crater,” Lina said, trying to shut him up.

  “You don’t understand, Miss Lina,” CR-8R continued regardless. “Assassin droids are incredibly dangerous. They’re walking armories, complete with integrated concussion grenade launchers and flamethrowers.”

  “Yes, Crater. Enough now.”

  “Although I’ve always been quite jealous of their acid-proof servo wires. I’ve always wanted some of th—”

  “Crater, shut up!” Lina snapped.

  “Droid talks a lot,” Rom said, stopping beside the table.

  “Tell us something we don’t know,” Milo replied before turning his attention to the assassin droid. “Are you the boss?”

  “No, he is not!” came a voice from hidden speakers. Milo looked around to see where it was coming from. “Who said that?”

  “Is IG-70 the boss? Ha!” the voice continued as a panel opened in one of the walls. Milo gasped. Beyond the wall a tank of yellow, briny water was being held back by a force field. Swimming in the murky liquid was an imposing figure with large bulbous eyes on the sides of a high-domed head. Milo immediately recognized the alien as a native of Mon Cala. The Whisper Bird had visited the watery planet when Milo was little. Their father had made many friends among the Mon Calamari when he’d first started exploring the Outer Rim. But this one did not look friendly.

  “Boss,” Rom chimed in helpfully as the alien swam through the energy barrier that kept the water from flooding the room. Dripping all over the expensive carpet, the Mon Calamari slopped over to the desk to sit down with a squelch on the chair.

  “Boss have good bath?” Rom asked.

  “No, I did not,” the alien snapped. “The water’s stale. Recycle it, will you?”

  Rom did what he was told, pressing a control beside the tank. Behind the force field, the murky liquid drained away and was replaced with much cleaner water.

  “Now,” the Mon Calamari said, sniffing the air. “Who are you? And why do you smell of monkey-lizards?”

  “Who are we?” Milo repeated, sounding braver than he felt. “The better question is who are you?”

  The alien’s nostrils flared and he turned to Rom. “This is why I don’t like children,” he gurgled. “Impertinent sea slugs.”

  “Sea slugs,” Rom repeated, sounding like he hadn’t understood a word that his boss had just said.

  The Mon Calamari leaned forward as water pooled around his elbows. “I am Rask Odai, and this is my planet.”

  “I thought it was the Empire’s planet,” Lina pointed out.

  “That’s what I let them believe.” He waved a webbed hand dismissively. “Oh, they can worry about governing, and law and order. That’s all too boring for me. I’m more interested in the important things in life.” He grinned, revealing toothless gums. “Like money!”

  All the time, Odai’s goggle-like eyes were focused on CR-8R. Milo watched as the Mon Calamari licked his blubbery lips. Milo shuddered. Did this fishy freak eat droids or something?

  Odai’s watery eyes were still locked on the droid. “What do you want?” he said.

  “Didn’t Vizago let you know why we’re here?” Lina asked.

  “If he did, I wouldn’t have to ask!” Odai snapped, his voice rising.

  “S-sorry,” Lina said, raising her hands apologetically. Slowly, she told the gangster why they’d come to Lothal and how they were looking for the source of the rebel transmissions.

  “Is that all?” Odai replied, scratching the long fronds that dangled from his bottom lip. “That’s easy.”

  “Easy,” Rom repeated.

  Odai opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a handheld device.

  “I don’t suppose either of you understand communication frequencies?” the crime lord gurgled.

  “Lina does,” Milo said. “She’s great with machines.”

  “Is she now?” Odai said. He beckoned her over with a webbed finger.

  Lina cautiously stepped closer under the ever-watchful gaze of the assassin droid.

  Odai started working the scanner, and static burst out of the speakers. Lina walked around the table to see what the Mon Calamari was doing. With the twist of a dial, a voice broke through the static—cultured and cold.

  “All troops report to barracks. Training will commence at—”

  Odai turned another control and the voice dissolved again. “We use these to eavesdrop on our Imperial neighbors,” he explained. “Just in case they’re doing anything…interesting. Now, if you take a scanner like this and use it to search for background chatter, channels that only droids use for communication…”

  Another voice broke through, but it wasn’t an Imperial message this time.

  “We’ll be back on the airwaves later today. In the meantime, stand up for what you believe, not what the Emperor tells you to think. You were born free. Hold on to that. Treasure it.”

  “That’s it,” Milo said, excitedly. “That’s the transmission!”

  Odai pressed a couple of buttons, showing Lina each step of the process. “Get the scanner to lock onto the signal and you should be able to track it, see? Like a detector.” The device started to beep rhythmically. “The closer you get to the source of the broadcast, the louder the beep.”

  “That’s amazing,” Lina admitted.

  Odai slammed the scanner down onto the top of the table. “I know. Now, about my payment…”

  “Payment?” she said, glancing nervously at Milo. “Vizago never said anything about payment.”

  “What do you think I am, a charity?” Odai sneered. “I gave you what you want, now you have to give me something.”

  “But we don’t have any money,” Milo tried to argue. “Not much anyway.”

  “I don’t want your credits,” Odai snapped.

  “Then what do you want?” Lina asked.

  Odai turned to the assassin droid. “IG-70?”

  The droid nodded. “Understood.”

  With that, the tall droid marched from the back of the room, heading straight for Milo and CR-8R.

  “What’s he going to do?” Lina asked the Mon Calamari.

  “Collect my payment,” Odai replied, rubbing his webbed fingers together.

  “Keep back,” CR-8R warned, putting himself in front of Milo. “I won’t let you hurt these children.”

  “Understood,” IG-70 repeated as he reached up and grabbed CR-8R’s metal face.

 
With an electronic grunt, the assassin droid ripped CR-8R’s head clean from his shoulders!

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Milo cried as sparks burst from CR-8R’s neck. The headless droid’s arms dropped lifelessly to his sides as IG-70 marched his prize back toward Odai.

  Milo sprung forward, trying to grab CR-8R’s head, but the giant assassin droid swatted him aside.

  “Give it to me,” Odai gurgled, his arms outstretched. He snatched CR-8R’s head from IG-70 and turned it over in his fingers. “Yes, yes. This is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

  “Give that back,” Lina said, lunging for the head only to find IG-70’s blaster pointing directly at her.

  “You will freeze,” the droid rumbled.

  Lina unwillingly raised her hands and took a step back.

  “But what do you want with Crater’s head?” Milo asked from the floor.

  “You’re kidding, right?” the Mon Calamari said, his pink tongue wetting those horribly blubbery lips. “This is a genuine architect droid head. A Mark IV. I haven’t seen one for decades.”

  “So what if it is?” asked Lina. “It belongs to CR-8R, not you!”

  “It’s payment for the services I provided,” Odai snapped back. “You have your transmission. I have the droid’s head. Fair and square.”

  “But it can’t be worth anything to you!”

  “Not worth anything? This will be the jewel in my collection.” He threw out his other arm and indicated the treasures on the floating platforms.

  “Among that junk?” Milo shouted.

  “Junk? This isn’t junk!” Odai scoffed. “I have the finest collection of Old Republic artifacts this side of Nar Shaddaa. This head was wasted on your droid. It’s an antique.”

  He opened another drawer in his desk and pulled out a hover-platform. Setting CR-8R’s head on a stand, Odai gurgled with pleasure as it floated out of his hands to join the rest of his collection.

  “No!” Milo cried, jumping up toward the desk. “You can’t just go around stealing people’s heads!”

  An arm snaked around his neck, pulling him back as a blaster pressed hard against his head. It was Rom. The Rodian hissed in Milo’s ear.

  “Boss can do anything he wants.”

  “Besides,” Odai added, admiring his latest acquisition, “I didn’t steal anything. It was a legitimate trade. Now get these two sea slugs out of my sight!”

  On the streets of Lothal, a figure in a long cloak swept back and forth on a speeder bike.

  As he scanned the streets, the comlink on his wrist buzzed. The man raised the device to his hooded face.

  “Have you found them?” someone asked over the comms-signal.

  “Not yet,” he replied. “Are we sure they’re even here?”

  Before his contact could reply, a landspeeder roared up along the road. The man backed his bike into an alleyway to observe the craft slow to a stop.

  It was piloted by a Devaronian, who was flanked by a Rodian and an old assassin droid. As the man watched, the two aliens threw a boy and a girl from the back of the speeder. The children landed in a pile in the dirt as the Rodian tossed a heap of broken machinery from the floating vehicle behind them. It was a droid without a head. It bobbed along lifelessly on its repulsors.

  “Please don’t do this!” the girl said.

  “How are you going to stop us?” The Devaronian laughed. “Now do yourself a favor, kid, and don’t come back!”

  With that, the three rogues zoomed off, leaving the children lying in the road.

  The man spoke into his comlink. “Do you see them?”

  “Yes,” came the reply.

  “Shall I bring them in?”

  “Not yet,” his contact told him. “We need to be sure.…”

  It was a long walk back to the landing strip. By the time they’d reached the shantytown, Milo and Lina’s feet were aching and their hearts were heavy. They had started the journey by talking about what they would do to Rask Odai when they saw him again, imagining all kinds of revenge. But the reality was that it was hopeless.

  “Even if we could get past the security arch, we’d never be able to find his office again, not without knowing the code to enter into the crate controls,” Lina said, pulling CR-8R’s floating body behind her.

  “And then there’s Rom and that assassin droid,” Milo added. “You think they’ll just let us take Crater’s head?”

  The Whisper Bird was in front of them as they trudged across the muddy port. “We’ll think of something,” Lina promised him. “There’ll be something on board the Bird that can help. You’ll see!”

  But Milo’s eyes had gone wide. “Morq! I forgot about Morq!” He looked around, panicked by the sudden realization. “He must still be back at Twin Horns Storage!”

  “Maybe he came back to the Bird?” Lina suggested, but Milo was already racing for the ship, slipping in the mud. He ran around the Whisper Bird, calling the monkey-lizard’s name. His voice was becoming increasingly frantic with every shout.

  “Morq! Morq!”

  Leaving CR-8R’s body behind, Lina ran up to him. “Milo, keep it down. People are looking!”

  “He’s not here, Lina,” Milo said. “He’s back in the city. He’s probably so scared and he’s all alone.”

  And with that Milo’s face crumpled as tears started to flow. Lina couldn’t move fast enough to stop her brother from collapsing to his knees in the mud. He rested his face in his hands.

  She dropped down beside him, throwing her arms around him. She pulled him close.

  “There, there,” she said, her own voice catching as she realized that it was usually their mom who said those words. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” he cried out as sobs shook his body. “Morq’s gone. Crater’s gone. Mom and Dad are gone. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “Of course there is,” Lina told him, although she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. There they were in the shadow of the Whisper Bird on a strange planet with no friends. The tears that ran down her own face were long overdue. Both of them had gone through so much, and they were still no nearer finding their parents. It seemed like the entire galaxy was against them. If it wasn’t the Empire, it was evil creatures, and if it wasn’t evil creatures, it was gangsters like Odai.

  As she sat cradling her brother, Lina had finally run out of ideas. Sure there were the transmissions. But even if what Odai had told them was true, how did they know they could trust whoever was making the broadcasts? How could they trust anyone anymore?

  “Looks like someone needs a good lunch!” someone called out.

  Lina looked up, her arms still around Milo. A woman was standing in front of them, her hands on her hips. She had a kind, open face, with dark skin and bright green eyes. Her hair was bunched into tight curls, held in place with a bright orange band. She wore a long knitted shawl over an apron and a pair of faded overalls.

  “Unless you’re not hungry,” she added when neither of them replied.

  “I am,” Milo said meekly, wiping the back of his hand across his nose.

  Lina smiled. Even when he was upset, Milo always thought with his stomach. “It has been a while since we ate anything.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?” the woman said. “Follow me.”

  Nervously, Milo got to his feet, wiping tears away with his sleeve. Together, they walked hand in hand, following the woman around the Whisper Bird.

  Parked in the next bay was another ship that hadn’t been there before. It was a very old freighter—the kind Lina’s mom had shown her in old holo-reels. It looked like it had seen a lot of action. Its dented hull was pitted with years of asteroid strikes. That wasn’t the strangest thing about it though. One of the cargo doors was open, revealing what looked like a small kitchen and counter. Metal tables were dotted around the opening, each occupied by the aliens who had watched the children’s arrival with suspicion. Now they were stuffing their faces with hot meals. Taking a deep breat
h, Lina smelled soups, stews, and freshly baked bread. Her stomach gurgled. She was hungry, too. She hadn’t realized how hungry until that moment.

  “Come on in,” the woman said, beckoning them forward. “Welcome to the Moveable Feast. Yes, there are prettier ships out there, faster ships even, but none that serve food like Captain Shalla Mondatha’s. Here, take a seat.”

  She pulled out a stool from a free table, producing a cloth from her pocket to wipe the metal surface clean.

  “Captain who?” Milo asked, slipping onto the stool.

  “Shalla Mondatha,” the woman repeated. “You must have heard the name?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Lina admitted, sitting next to her brother.

  “Well, you have now,” the woman said, beaming. “You’re looking at her. I’m the captain, cook, and dishwasher. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Suddenly, there was a clashing of plates. Lina turned to see a chubby Dowutin trying to stop a small scavenger from eating his lunch. In trying to swat the creature away, the orange-skinned alien had knocked over his table.

  “Hey!” Shalla shouted. “Watch what you’re doing!”

  “It’s this thing,” the Dowutin complained, pointing behind the overturned table. “It was stealing my food.”

  There was an angry squeak, and Milo jumped up from his stool. “Wait! That’s—”

  At the sound of Milo’s voice, Morq jumped onto the overturned table. The monkey-lizard let out a squeal of joy and raced over to hop into Milo’s arms. Lina’s brother hugged his pet, who licked Milo’s face happily.

  “Someone’s excited to see you,” Shalla said with a laugh.

  “Morq! I thought I’d lost you! But you came back! Of course you did, you clever boy!”

  “What about my food?” the Dowutin complained.

  “By the size of that belly, it looks like you’ve had enough,” Shalla shouted back. “Move along. I’ve got hungry mouths to feed.”

  Turning her attention back to the children, Shalla pulled a datapad from her apron pocket. “Now what can I get for you. Today’s specials are Melahnese red curry, Melahnese green curry, and Melahnese yellow curry.”