Reegesk began discreetly displaying the items he was willing to
trade. Het Nkik showed a mild interest in the stormtrooper helmet,
but when Reegesk brought out the bantha horn carved in the shape
of a Tusken battle talisman, Het Nkik's excitement was un
mistakable. Reegesk, quickly searching his memory for anything he
knew about such objects, managed to remember something of
interest. The Sand People, he explained, believed a battle
talisman brought them the physical strength of a bantha in battle
and gave them the courage to face death, if need be. Het Nkik
asked to hold the talisman, turning it over and over in his hands,
uttering exclamations in a dialect Reegesk did not recognize.
Reegesk hid. a triumphant smile. This would be almost too easy.
It was unusual for a Jawa to show so much enthusiasm for an item
being traded, since it might skew the bartering to indicate that
the item had value to him. Reegesk closed in to begin the negotia
tion. "The talisman is indeed of great value. The exchange must
measure up to its worth."
Het Nkik's reverent expression turned to one of chagrin. "I
have little with me today that is suitable for this exchange."
Reegesk's heart began to beat rapidly as he smelled his chances
improving. The Jawa definitely wanted to make a trade. Reegesk
slyly lowered his eyes to indicate the blaster that Het Nkik held
in his lap, hidden by the table. "The rime for opportunity is
always now."
The Jawa's hands clutched convulsively at the weapon, and for a
moment he seemed at a loss. "I cannot meet such a high price," he
answered carefully, ". . . today." His eyes did not meet
Reegesk's. He negotiated for awhile longer before finally agreeing
to an amount far higher than Reegesk had expected to get.
"You know that I am a skilled trader," Het Nkik said. "Here are
a few credits to show my good faith. If you will give me until
morning, I will meet your price."
Success! But could the Jawa be trusted? Reegesk ordered himself
to use caution. "Then I will bring you the talisman tomorrow
morning," he said in a calm voice. He did not want to give away
his own impatience, and he hoped the Jawa could not smell it.
But the Jawa was firm. "No. I must have the battle talisman
today." Het Nkik's voice grew agitated as he spoke. "I will pay
the rest in the morning, but I cannot wait until tomorrow." He
stopped, as if searching for a way to convince Reegesk of his
serious intentions. At last he said, "If you wait until morning, I
will let you have the use of this blaster."
Reegesk could feel his eyes light with intensity at the very
thought of having such a fine weapon.
Het Nkik's eyes burned into Reegesk's as he nodded to the
weapon he held beneath the table. "Yes, I will let you hold it and
use it. I am not afraid to arm a Ranat. Let me leave with the
talisman today, and you will have what you need by morning."
Unable to pull away from the fervor of the Jawa's glowing gaze,
Reegesk reached out one paw to touch the weapon. Did he dare take
a risk on the honor of this Jawa? Always pay close attention
during a trade, he reminded himself. Finally, he came to a
decision.
At that moment, a commotion broke out across the cantina from
them. Light and sparks filled the air, along with the sharp smell
of singed flesh. When the air finally cleared, Reegesk was able to
make out the form of Greedo the bounty hunter slumped over an
otherwise deserted, table.
Dead? Yes, definitely dead. This was indeed a lucky day for
Reegesk. He felt a surge of excitement and his whiskers quivered
with glee. "Yes. I accept the trade," he said to the Jawa, who was
still staring at the scene across the room. "Keep the talisman for
now. Bring me the price we agreed on by morning."
Het Nkik suddenly turned his attention back to Reegesk. Without
a word, he pulled the blaster away from Reegesk's paw and stalked
away.
"Both traders received the better bargain this day," Reegesk
called after Het Nkik, but the Jawa did not seem to hear him.
Reegesk smiled as he watched Het Nkik walk with such confidence
toward the entrance of the cantina. He was pleased to have made
such a fair deal. The Jawa threw challenging glances around the
room as he left with the DL-44 concealed beneath his cloak, one
hand fingering the precious battle talisman.
Reegesk emptied the remaining brew from his cup and stood to
leave, inhaling deeply. The smell of the scorched Rodian bounty
hunter still hung in the air. Very satisfactory, he thought with a
contented sigh.
Moments later, he stepped back out of the cantina into the
parched streets of Mos Eisley. Reegesk patted the pocket inside
his cloak that held the power pack.he had slipped from Het Nkik's
blaster. They had both gotten the trade they wanted today. He had
paid very close attention.
And now Reegesk had the perfect power supply for the Ranat
tribe's new 'vaporator.
When the Desert Wind Turns The Stormtrooper's Tale
by Doug Season
It took Davin Felth all of thirty seconds on the military
training planet Carida to decide that serving in the Emperor's
armed forces was not as romantic as he had thought.
Davin hoisted his deep blue duffel bag containing his worldly
possessions onto his back and queued up with the rest of the
hundred and twenty other recruits. They filled the Gamma-class
shuttle's narrow steel corridor. Davin was nearly overwhelmed by
the diverse cut of clothes, colors, and unusual smells that wafted
from the youths. Nervous chatter ran up and down the line of
eighteen-year-olds, most of whom were away from home for the very
first time. A blast of noise reverberated through the shuttle and
the door to the outside sighed open.
Fresh air tumbled in, untouched by atmospheric scrubbers
present on the ship; unfiltered light splashed against t he
gleaming deck, reflecting down the hallway, and for a glorious
thirty seconds it seemed that all the hype and rumors about
Carida, the planet used by the Emperor's own guard as a training
base for his military, were suddenly magnified. This must be the
most exciting place for a ship of eager eighteen-year-olds to
begin their new lives.
And then the shouting started.
It was as if a bomb had exploded amidst the nervous group of
draftees. Chaos, yelling, confusion, and a hundred thousand
demands were suddenly thrust upon Davin from all directions.
Officers in olive-gray uniforms or white stormtrooper armor
swarmed all over them; the recruits stood at attention, rigidly
trying to emulate statues as the officers moved to within milli
meters of their faces, screaming demands.
Bavin's only thought was to try and survive, to get out of this
mess alive - he couldn't think, and every time he tried to answer
a question that was screamed at him, someone else would thrust
their face next to his and
demand something else.
Davin started yelling, not caring what he said, or whom he was
speaking to, but only reacting, attempting to look as though he
were busy answering someone else's question. He raised his voice
and shouted at the top of his lungs - and the ploy seemed to work.
With all the confusion that surrounded him, with a storm-trooper
major screaming in his face to try and disorient him, he succeeded
in diverting attention from himself. But this was only the
beginning of six months of hellish training that would mold Davin
into one of the Emperor's own elite troops.
After what seemed hours, Davin and the rest of the recruits
were led running down a pathway to the barracks. A huge
prehistoric-looking man waved them to stand at one side of the
passageway. The recruits scampered in fear. They lined up against
the wall and snapped to attention. The burly man threw them sup
plies generic dark uniforms, helmets, socks, underwear,
handkerchiefs, emergency equipment, medpac kit, survival gear, and
personal-cleansing equipment.
Davin accepted the supplies, but was too afraid to ask what he
should do with them. One small voice, attached to a man who
towered over the rest of the recruits like a solarflower grown in
rich Gamorrean dirt, said meekly, "I ... I can't take this
anymore!"
Instantly, Imperial uniformed bodies swarmed over the man. A
voice shouted, "You people-over here! Move it!"
Bending backward under his load of supplies, Davin staggered to
join a line of recruits who looked like piles of crawling military
storehouses. The group was led away, shown to their bunks. Davin
deposited his blue duffel bag and armload of material on a cot.
Two other recruits shared the room with him. Davin grinned tiredly
and introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Davin Felth."
The first man shook his hand firmly. "Geoff f Tuhns.'' He took
a quick look around the corner and held out a bag of greasy-
looking food. "Want a bite?"
Davin glanced in the bag and felt his stomach flip. "No,
thanks."
Tall, big-boned, and sporting a head of flaming red hair, Geoff
did not look as if he could ever fit inside stormtrooper armor.
Looking once more around the corner, he sighed and stuffed a
handful of food in his mouth. "If you brought any food, you'd
better eat it now. I managed to hide this from them," he said,
"but they threatened punishment if they caught me with any more
food."
"Mychael Ologat," said the second man. "What do you think of
all this?" As small as Geoff was tall, Mychael looked as though he
could fit in Davin's duffel bag; but his muscles rippled
underneath his taut skin.
Davin was still shell-shocked from the reception getting off
the Gamma-class shuttle. They hadn't been on the military training
planet for more than an hour, but with all the supplies he had
been issued and the amount of ground they had covered, at Davin's
normal pace it would have taken over a week to get these same
things done. He shook his head. "They told me the military would
change my life, but this is- crazy. I expected to get some time to
look around."
"Don't count on it," said Geoff, speaking around a mouthful of
food. "We've been here since yesterday, and from what I've heard,
this is only the welcoming committee. The really tough stuff comes
later."
Mychael's eyes grew wide. He stood facing the door, and he
managed to blurt out, "Uh-oh - here comes trouble."
Geoff dropped the bag of munchies and tried to kick it
underneath his bed, but he slipped and the bag slid to the center
of the room.
Davin turned to see one of the largest men he had ever seen in
his life standing just outside the door. Dressed in antigrav
shoes, black shorts, a white skin-shirt, and wearing the ominous
white helmet of an Imperial stormtrooper, the man looked like a
massive pillar. He pointed at the bag of food. His voice had a
tinny sound as it came over the speakers implanted in the side of
the battle helmet.
"Your caloric intake is strictly regulated - whose contraband
food is that?"
Davin heard Geoff gulp; from what he'd said, he couldn't afford
to get caught. But no one had told him it was contraband! He spoke
up. "It's mine."
The stormtrooper turned to face Davin. "You are new here."
"That's right."
"The correct response is 'yes, sir.' You will learn - or you
will fail. Consider that your only warning." He smashed the bag
with his foot, then turned to include the other two. "You sand
slime have two minutes to change into your physical training gear
and get out here with the rest of your squad-or your butt is mine.
Now move!"
The three Imperial recruits scrambled over each other as
clothing flew across the room.
"Thanks, Davin," Geoff gasped out as he struggled into a
coverall.
Davin could only grunt as he hopped on one foot; he attempted
to pull on thigh-high running boots. Despite the hectic pace, the
next two minutes were Davin's last chance to relax during the six
months of training.
Fifteen pounds lighter but immeasurably stronger, Davin
adjusted to the breakneck training routine. The recruits spent
less than five hours a night in their room, falling exhausted to
sleep after day upon day of relentless training physical fitness
runs, daily expeditions via suborbital transport to the southern
ice fields for winter training, a week-long expedition to the bar
ren Forgofshar Desert for survival training, a three-day battle
against nature in the equatorial rain forest . . . Davin soon lost
track of the days.
He and his roommates soon learned to get up before their "wake-
up call" came in the morning, when their Imperial stormtrooper
sergeant would kick open their door and blast his sonic whistle.
Davin would wake up a good half hour before reveille. He and the
others would scurry about the small dorm room, cleaning and
dressing, only to hop beneath their sheets for the early-morning
wake-up ritual-they had seen what happened to the other recruits
when they were caught out of their bunks before reveille.
Running out into the hallway, Davin would snap to attention,
waiting to hear what the expedition of the day would entail. He
never knew where he might be sent.
It was the morning Davin was in place in the hallway nearly
thirty seconds before the others that changed his life. It didn't
start out with a fanfare, simply "Davin, drive your butt over to
the AT-AT detachment at the end of the hall. The rest of you
sandworms fall in for inspection!"
As the rest of his squad stood at attention, Geoff punched him
in the side and whispered, "Good luck, hotshot - we're going to
miss you!"
Davin didn't have time to answer, as the Imperial trooper in
charge of the AT-AT detachment was already yelling for Davin to
hurry up. "Twenty mo
re seconds and we'll drop you off in a reactor
core!"
Davin joined the group of recruits at the end of the hall; he
recognized several of his classmates as those who had consistently
finished near the top of the class with him. They exchanged
glances with one another, but they were much too sharp to speak
and bring down the wrath of their drill instructor.
Lining up, they were marched out of the dorm area to the parade
field. Glass and syngranite buildings soared above their heads;
the parade field was surrounded by ultramodern buildings. Dozens
of robot observer eyes hovered overhead, keeping watch over the
military base. Situated in the middle of the circle of classroom
buildings, a sleek executive transport ship squatted on the grass,
its door open for boarding. The recruits were hurried in as the
all-clear signal alerted the pilot for takeoff.
As Davin settled into his seat, a holo appeared in the middle
of the aisle. Tall and gaunt with sunken eyes, the holographic
image of the man was dressed in the tight black uniform of a
ground commander. The image spoke with forcefulness.
"I am Colonel Veers, commander of the Emperor's AT-AT forces.
You trooper candidates have been selected for your ability to
learn quickly and put the requirements of the mission over your
personal needs. No matter how superior our space forces may be, it
is the brilliance of the ground troops, ferreting out the enemy
from their dug-in encampments, that will win this conflict. The
ground forces are the true backbone needed for a total victory-and
you have been selected to man the flagship of the ground troops
the All Terrain Armored Transport, the A T-AT!"
Colonel Veers's image was replaced by a four-legged metal
behemoth, lumbering across rugged terrain. It moved in mere
seconds distances that would have taken men on foot an hour to
traverse. Twin blaster cannons fired laser pulses from the
vehicle's metallic head; two uniformed crewmen could be seen in
the command module in the AT-AT's head. The recruits in the
executive transport drew in their breath in a collective gasp at
the sight.
Colonel Veers's voice continued. "You will undergo six weeks of
intensive training in the virtual reality simulators before being
allowed in the AT-AT even as an observer. If you pass the
Star Wars - Tales From The Mos Eisley Cantina Page 28
