by Alex Wheeler
"Coulda fooled me," Jaxson said, then quickened his pace so that Luke fell a step behind him.
Do I really act superior? Luke wondered. His eyes strayed to the lightsaber. Whenever he wielded it, he felt special, like there was something in him that was worthy, even powerful. He'd spent so many years feeling like a nobody, on a nothing planet—and then, to discover that he was somebody, a Jedi? Maybe the only Jedi left in the galaxy? He'd be crazy not to feel special.
But that didn't mean he thought he was better than anyone else.
Did it?
They walked briskly through the moonlit desert, trying to ignore their thirst and fatigue. The night had grown as cold as the day was hot, and Luke's fingers were growing numb. Gradually, a strange, unsettled feeling descended over him. For an instant, his senses clouded over, sheathing the world in shadow, and then the cloud dropped away, and everything was sharper, clearer than it had been before. Luke froze. He recognized that feeling.
Luke grabbed Jaxson's shoulder, gesturing for him to stop and stay silent.
Everything was thrown into sharp relief. The desert grit coating his skin, sandpapering his hands and face. The smell of the Wastes, a pungent mix of rot and death. The quietest sounds of the night screamed in his ears, separating themselves into discrete, recognizable units: the scurrying profroggs. Womp rats, feeding on a desiccated bantha corpse. And a shuffling sound.
Like footsteps, in unison, sweeping through the sand.
A muffled grunt, like the complaint of a bantha forced to carry a load heavier than it could bear.
Luke pressed himself against the wall of the nearby cliff, silently urged Jaxson to join him.
"What's wrong with you?" Jaxson hissed. "We have to keep going."
Luke shook his head.
The shuffling sound seemed to roar in his ears. How could Jaxson not hear it, not feel what was coming?
"Are you having some kind of fit, Skywalker?"
Sand People, Luke mouthed, then pointed over Jaxson's shoulder as the row of masked predators appeared on the horizon. Marching single file, each carrying a deadly gaffi stick and a rifle, trooping closer and closer to where Luke and Jaxson stood frozen, with no cover in sight. Jaxson's mouth formed a perfect "O" of horror. He threw himself against the wall of the cliff so hard it was as if he imagined he could bore through the stone with sheer will, lodging himself inside the rock until the danger had passed.
But unless the cliff magically swallowed them up, they'd be in plain sight when the gang of Tusken Raiders arrived. And, unarmed, they'd be an easy target.
Not unarmed, Luke thought. I have my lightsaber.
A lot of good it would do him against a horde of determined Sand People. Luke had heard rumors of the Tusken Raiders flaying their victims, tossing their corpses to the banthas. If he and Jaxson were here when the Sand People arrived, it wouldn't be a fight, it would be a massacre.
"We should run for it," Jaxson urged. "Now, before it's too late."
Luke shook his head. "It's wide open out there. They'll spot us, and then it's over."
"Like they're not going to spot us once they get closer, and we're just sitting here like a couple of kriffing dewbacks?"
Luke didn't say anything.
"Well?" Jaxson pushed him. "You got a better idea? Because I'm not going to just stand here and wait to die."
You can't win, Luke remembered Ben once saying, but there are alternatives to fighting.
Luke hadn't understood it then, and he wasn't sure how it could help him now. He did know exactly what Han would have to say on the subject: You don't need all that Jedi mumbo jumbo, kid. What you need is a good blaster.
Han liked to claim that Obi‑Wan's Jedi advice was impractical, useless in a real emergency. Luke always argued him, but right now, he was inclined to agree. Sure, Obi‑Wan had been a master when it came to the Force, but what good was that when confronted with a band of angry Sand People who—
Of course! Luke thought, feeling stupid for not remembering sooner. He cupped his hands around his mouth and drew in a deep breath of air. Then, eyes closed, fingers mentally crossed, he blew out the best imitation krayt dragon call he could muster. And then he did it again, even louder.
"What are you doing?" Jaxson hissed angrily. "Now they'll come straight for us!"
"I don't think so," Luke said, nodding as the line of Sand People took a sharp turn toward the north, away from Luke and Jaxson's useless hiding place. In moments, they'd disappeared over the horizon.
Jaxson stared at him with wonder, the same expression that had crossed his face when he'd first seen Luke's lightsaber. "How'd you do that?"
"Tusken Raiders are afraid of krayt dragons," Luke said, trying not to shudder in relief that that trick had actually worked. "A dragon call is usually enough to scare them away."
"But how'd you know it would work?"
"An old friend of mine proved it to me, once," Luke said fondly. That had been the second time Obi‑Wan had saved him in the Jundland Wastes. Years before, Obi‑Wan had found Luke and Windy stranded in the desert, and led them to safety. The mysterious hermit had deposited Luke back at Uncle Owen's farm and disappeared into the wilderness. Luke hadn't seen him again until that afternoon Obi‑Wan had saved him from the Sand People. So much had happened after that—learning that his father was a Jedi, burying his aunt and uncle, leaving Tatooine for a new life—he'd nearly forgotten.
I wish you were here with me now, Ben, Luke thought. The old man had lived in the Wastes for years—he must have learned a way to survive the harsh environment. But Ben was dead, and Luke was on his own.
Strangely, he didn't quite feel like it. Maybe it was because Obi‑Wan had lived here for so long, or maybe it was because Obi‑Wan's wisdom had, yet again, saved his life, but Luke felt the old man's presence. It was as if Obi-Wan was watching him every step of the way, urging him to go on, to survive.
Don't worry, Ben. I won't let you down.
As they pushed further west, endless stretches of flat desert gave way to a ragged landscape of cliffs and canyons. Luke and Jaxson found themselves edging along steep, gravelly paths in a darkness lit only by the blue glow of Luke's lightsaber.
"Where'd you get that thing, anyway?" Jaxson asked. "You steal it?"
"It belonged to my father," Luke said, inching along the narrow trail that wrapped around the cliffside. It had dwindled to less than a meter across, and beyond it lay a gaping chasm that seemed to stretch down forever. They'd searched for a path on more solid ground, but this was the only way through—so it was either edging along the cliffside or turning back the way they'd came.
"But you never had it before," Jaxson said.
"No," Luke agreed, reluctant to reveal any more details. "I didn't."
"So who's this Han Solo guy?"
"What?" Surprised to hear the name coming out of Jaxson's mouth, Luke whirled around, nearly losing his balance. His foot skidded across the gravel, and his body listed helplessly to the side. His arms pinwheeled, frantically searching for purchase.
His hand closed over a rocky outgrowth against the side of the cliff. He grasped it gratefully, heaving himself upright. The whole thing had happened in seconds. Behind him, Jaxson hadn't even noticed the near fall.
"How do you know that name?" Luke asked, once he was confident he'd regained his balance.
"Heard you and the Trandoshan talking about it," Jaxson admitted.
"I thought you were unconscious," Luke said.
"Yeah, well…" Jaxson hesitated, concentrating on his careful footsteps. "Figured it was better to lay low, see what was going on. So who is he? Seems like I should know, since it's his fault we're here."
Who is Han Solo? Luke thought. That was the question, wasn't it? Not a killer, not an assassin, not a spy—and yet someone who would run away from an accusation, rather than staying to defend himself. Not a coward—and yet someone who would refuse to join the Rebellion's fight.
"He's a friend," Luke said simply. The answer felt rig
ht.
"Some friend, getting you into a mess like this," Jaxson grumbled.
"I'm sorry you got swept up in this," Luke said.
"Yeah. I heard what you said to the bounty hunter about letting me go," Jaxson muttered, his voice nearly too soft to hear. "Guess I should say thanks."
Luke grinned. "I never thought I'd hear you say—ahhhhhhh!"
This time there was no warning. One moment he was walking on solid ground—the next he was in the air. As the rock gave way beneath him, he had no chance to catch his balance, no hope of grabbing hold of something solid. Time seemed to slow, but the extra moments offered him no possibility of saving himself. They merely allowed him to experience every instant of the fall. His stomach lurched into his throat, the air rushed out of him, the stars brightened overhead, sharp and crystal clear and no doubt the last thing he'd ever see. And gravity, an anchor dragging him down and down…
A rough hand closed over his, yanking him upward. Luke felt like his shoulder was tearing in two, but he didn't let go. He tipped his head back. Jaxson was lying on his stomach, arm stretched over the side of the cliff, hanging onto Luke with a sweaty grasp. His hand slipped, and Luke squeezed tighter, fearing that the grit of sand between their skin was the only thing keeping him from plunging to his death. With his other hand, he scrabbled against the soft rock, trying to pull himself up, but it was no use.
"Hang on!" Jaxson shouted, straining to pull Luke back onto the trail. With a mighty heave, he managed to yank Luke up a few centimeters, not much, but enough that Luke could grab the edge of the cliff with the fingertips of his other hand. "Come on," Jaxson muttered through gritted teeth, panting with the effort. Luke mustered all his strength and, muscles straining, managed to raise himself up a little higher, enough to get a good grip on the edge of the rock. As he pulled himself up as hard as he could, Jaxson gave a final tug on his left arm, and dragged Luke back to safe ground.
For several moments, they just stared at each other, as if unwilling to believe it was over. "You can let go now," Luke said finally, and Jaxson dropped his hand. "You saved my life," Luke added.
Jaxson just shrugged. "Yeah. Well. Just watch your step next time."
Luke did. There were no more near misses, and no more Tusken Raiders, nothing to break the monotony of the long, slow slog through the dark. And then, after several hours had passed, Luke became aware that he could see the shaded browns and tans of the sandstone cliffs, whereas before they had been nothing but looming shadows. The horizon lit up with a pinkish yellow glow. "We made it!" he said in wonder. "We survived until morning."
The relief died on his lips as the roar of an engine approached.
"The Trandoshan?" Jaxson gasped, looking pale. It was impossible—when they'd left, both the bounty hunter and his airspeeder had been in pieces. But who else?
"Luke!" a familiar voice shouted, as a red landspeeder came into sight. Leia leaned over the side, waving frantically. Windy was at the wheel, while Fixer and the droids waved from the back. Luke and Jaxson caught each other's eye and grinned. It was finally over.
They were safe.
Deep in the desert, something moved. Something cold and reptilian and left for dead. Something else that had survived the long night.
The hunter's red eyes flickered open. His remaining hand closed into a fist, claws piercing his scaly palm. The wounds were deep, but they would heal. The arm and leg would grow back. Slowly, painfully, he would be whole again.
But it would take a long time to happen.
By the time it did, Bossk promised himself, Luke Skywalker would be dead.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"And then Leia just whipped out her blaster and blew that krayt dragon halfway to Coruscant!" Windy exclaimed, eyes bulging in appreciation. He gaped over Leia's shoulder at the other denizens of the cantina, as if shocked that they hadn't all gathered around to hear the amazing story.
Deak shook his head in disbelief. "Unbelievable. And you should have seen her at the crash site," he added. "She was fearless. We all thought you were dead, but she never gave up hope. It was like she knew!"
"And how about when we thought we saw the Sand People?" Fixer added. "No fear!"
"But it wasn't the Sand People," Camie reminded him irritably. "You said it was just the wind."
"Yeah, but if they had tried to attack us, Leia would've taken them down," Fixer said. He slapped Luke on the back. "That's some first mate you've got there," he said. "Maybe it's time to give her a promotion."
Luke caught Leia's eye, and grinned. The whole gang had ventured to Mos Eisley for a celebration of Luke and Jaxson's survival—but the night was quickly turning into a celebration of Leia's bravery. And Leia looked just fine with it. The princess usually spurned flattery and wriggled uncomfortably out from under the spotlight. But this was different, she'd confided to Luke in a quiet moment. "They don't respect me for being a princess or a senator," she'd told him. "Just…"
"For being you?" Luke had filled in when her voice trailed off. "Good. They should."
And it's not like Luke was being ignored. At least no one was calling Luke "Wormie" anymore, or questioning whether he was really a rogue hotshot pilot. They were willing enough to believe that his daring had let him do the impossible: survive a night in the Jundland Wastes.
But Luke preferred to sit back quietly and listen to his friends swap stories. It was strange, being back in Mos Eisley for the first time since he'd blasted off from Tatooine with Han and Ben. So much in his life had changed—and yet the city was the same cesspool of vice and corruption it had always been.
Fixer had been the one to suggest that they make this celebration something special, not just the same old tired game at Tosche Station. The rest of the gang had been quick to agree—all except for Luke. He told himself he was wary of the Imperial garrison in the center of town, and of the concentration of bounty hunters and other criminals under Jabba's thumb.
But the real reason: He didn't want to return to the place where he and Ben had first met Han Solo. And to remember that both of them were gone from his life now, probably forever.
He was overruled.
It had taken several hours to reach the city, and another one to make their way through crowded streets teeming with bazaars and marketplaces, pushing past moisture farmers toting their wares, grizzled spacers awaiting their next mission, aliens from every corner of the galaxy huddling in corners, exchanging secrets in hushed tones. The air was fetid with the stench of the dewbacks, eopies, jerbas, and rontos that packed the street, carrying their weary travelers from one cantina to the next.
And there were plenty of cantinas. That was one of the things about Mos Eisley that would never change. Deak had suggested Chalmun's—but only as a joke. The spot was famous for its rowdy crowd, underground warrens of vice, and frequent blood sport. Luke decided not to mention that he'd once passed an afternoon inside, only to come very close to death by way of an angry Aqualish.
Instead, they settled on Pisquatch's Place, a snug cantina a few blocks down from Chalmun's on Outer Kerner Way. With only one room, five drink options, no live music, and a crowd filled with touchy young wannabes—aspiring pilots rubbing shoulders with aspiring criminals—the Place had only one thing in common with Chalmun's Cantina: no droids allowed.
So C‑3PO and R2‑D2 waited outside, while Luke fended off his friends' demands for details about how he and Jaxson had managed to survive a night in the Jundland Wastes. There was no reason to keep it a secret, but Luke—who had already told so many tales of his fake life as a space smuggler—didn't relish making the experience into another adventure story. And, although they hadn't discussed it, Jaxson seemed just as reluctant. No one knew about how Luke's lightsaber had freed them from the bounty hunter, or that Jaxson's quick reflexes had saved Luke from toppling over a cliff. But the latter wasn't something Luke would soon forget. As his friends pestered Leia, clamoring for more details of her adventures in space, Luke pulled Jaxson aside. They
retreated to a quiet corner of the cantina, pausing beneath a garish painting of Noosh Feteel, one of Mos Eisley's founding fathers.
"What is it?" Jaxson asked, looking like he could guess, but was hoping to be wrong.
"I just wanted to thank you again," Luke said. "For what you did out there."
Jaxson shrugged. "Yeah, well. Whatever."
"You saved my life!" Luke said.
"Yeah." Jaxson shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I remember."
"I guess I owe you one," Luke said. "And listen, what I said before, about your piloting?"
"You mean, like how I had the hand-eye coordination of a blind womp rat?" Jaxson said sourly.
Luke flushed. He didn't remember using exactly those words. "Right. That. I didn't mean it. You're good—good enough that they should have let you into the Academy. But listen, it's really a good thing they didn't. Biggs—"
"You going to start up with that trash again, Skywalker?" Jaxson snarled. "Going to tell me that I'm lucky I didn't ship out to the Academy, because then I might have ended up serving in the big, bad Imperial Navy?"
"I was just—"
"Look, maybe I was wrong about you, too, Wormie," Jaxson admitted. "Maybe you're not just out for yourself. Maybe you don't think you're better than the rest of us. But last night doesn't change the fact that Fixer was right. Doesn't matter who's in charge of the galaxy, as long as the vaporators keep running."
Luke used to think the rest of the galaxy had nothing to do with Tatooine, too. Until the day the Empire arrived and slaughtered his aunt and uncle. That was the day Luke had realized that the Empire's reach was everywhere. But he knew he wouldn't be able to convince Jaxson of that, or any of them. It was something they'd have to figure out for themselves. And part of Luke hoped they would never have to. Life on Tatooine was hard enough.
He held out a hand for Jaxson to shake. "Then just thank you. I owe you my life."
Jaxson cocked an eyebrow at Luke, looking for a moment remarkably like Han. "Don't worry about it, Wormie. You'll pay me back some—"
