Waking up was anything but pleasant. I couldn't recall the dream itself, yet a vague sense of impending doom seemed seared into my mind. The sensation of approaching danger intensified steadily—so much so that, at one point, I suddenly found myself standing in the middle of the small storeroom where we had settled down to rest, a lightsaber clutched in my hand. Something was wrong, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly what. My eyes immediately sought out the Jedi—suspecting betrayal—but he was standing a fair distance away; he didn't appear to have had time to do anything dangerous, having clearly just woken up himself. Yet, catching my gaze, he instantly grew wary and began fumbling for his boots—the very ones he had so nonchalantly taken off before sleeping. Experience told me that such sensations invariably spelled trouble; thus, I ruthlessly shook Grana and Kem awake. The latter, however, likely hadn't been sleeping at all—or rather, he had been meditating while keeping an eye on the Jedi—for he rose and readied himself for combat before I even had a chance to call out to him. Or perhaps some of my own sensations had simply bled through to him via our "bond." Calming my thoughts slightly, I asked:
"Kalerie, do you sense anything strange in the Force?"
The Jedi gave me a peculiar look, as if trying to determine whether I was pulling his leg; yet, seeing the seriousness on my face, he finally—albeit reluctantly—replied:
"Why are you speaking to me so familiarly?"
He grumbled the question, then immediately pressed on, giving me no chance to get a word in:
"Fine, there's no time for that right now. I don't sense anything myself; however, if *you* sense a threat in the Force, that implies it isn't something global—otherwise I would have sensed it too—but rather something that concerns only you. Is there anyone out there who wants you dead?" "Alright, in any case, we need to get out of here as soon as possible"—
a sentiment with which I agreed wholeheartedly. Fortunately, during our rest, I hadn't even bothered to take off my boots—fearing an attack by Kaleri at any moment—and so I was the first to sprint out of the cave to scout the surroundings. Outside, however, I saw... nothing, save for that accursed sand. The landscape remained just as monotonous as before; indeed, in the gathering twilight, not a single light could be seen anywhere. Soon, the others appeared at the entrance, and I shared my observations with them:
"All clear. It doesn't look like anyone is preparing to attack us."
The Jedi, too, corroborated my assessment:
"I still sense nothing. You didn't happen to have any visions, did you?"
In response, I merely shook my head, then summed up the situation:
"Regardless, it's getting dark, which means it's time for us to move out."
With that, I headed off to start up the speeder, while Kem, following close behind, grumbled:
"Sounds like you're still too weak and have just started babbling nonsense"—
though, judging by his tone, it was clearly more of a jab than a genuine expression of his thoughts. To be honest, I couldn't recall the character ever experiencing a Force premonition—not even in the game; otherwise, a great many troubles could have been averted in advance. And frankly, I couldn't for the life of me figure out what might have triggered it now. It had struck so unexpectedly that I still couldn't quite bring my thoughts into order—yet, just as Kaleri had said, I was absolutely convinced that we needed to get the hell out of there, and fast. Nevertheless, even after we had driven a considerable distance from the cave, no explosion rang out; nor did a giant worm rear up from the sand to give chase—as I had subconsciously expected—nor did some shuttle craft come swooping in to open fire... And here I was, having seen my fair share of such clichés back in my "previous" life, bracing myself for the worst. But fortunately, absolutely nothing happened, making it obvious that this sensation wasn't actually "warning" me of any immediate threat. Upon reflection, I quickly realized that this wasn't "Spider-Sense" at all, but rather—for the most part—a random premonition regarding a potentially distant future. All in all, to sum things up for myself: something is going to happen someday—but exactly what, and exactly when? Who the hell knows. Oh well. It's business as usual, so I can just relax my buns and keep driving.
Fortunately, just a couple of hours later, we finally caught up with that massive, moving Jawa fortress—a sight I was immensely relieved to see, having already grown weary of the endless sands. The pint-sized members of our party, however, were far from pleased, as it quickly became clear that no one inside had any intention of letting us in—no matter how hard we banged on the hull. In fact—to be perfectly honest—they didn't seem to have any intention of stopping at all; though they weren't exactly speeding along, even we—aboard our sluggish, ancient speeder—were able to easily circle the vehicle a couple of times, confirming that no alternative entry points had suddenly appeared. I don't know if these accursed Jawas just race across the planet around the clock without ever stopping to sleep, or if they were simply terrified of us, but either way, they no longer stood the slightest chance of getting away.
Finally—nipping in the bud the destructive impulses of Kem, who had suggested simply slicing a hole in the hull with his sword (a feat that would likely have proven impossible given the sheer thickness of said hull, rather than any excess of kindness on his part)—I had a timely recollection of a certain video game in which the hero escaped from a similar crawler via a garbage chute. Fortunately—whether this was the exact same "fortress" from the game, or if all such vehicles simply share a similar layout—I located the chute in question quite quickly, aided by the fact that I remembered its approximate location.
At this point, the only things standing between us and the interior were a pair of thin hatch covers—which, essentially, meant that nothing stood in our way at all. Thus, using the Force, I easily cleared a path inside for us—though, naturally, I sent Kem in first, with a specific request not to inflict any *unnecessary* bodily harm on anyone. Of course, he makes for a rather lousy negotiator; yet his sheer physical presence leaves absolutely no room for doubt regarding our ability to kick some serious ass if need be—and to do so repeatedly, and with such force that even the dimmest of minds would get the message. The Jawas were by no means stupid; consequently, the massive vehicle soon came to a halt, and its rear ramp began to descend slowly until it revealed a small hangar crammed with various junk. Fortunately, the lights were working, so we didn't have to negotiate with the little guys in pitch darkness.
Alas, the wealthiest among us was Kaleri—a Jedi, for crying out loud! The richest one! That spoke volumes about our collective solvency, so we had to negotiate a different way. Thankfully, the countless video games I'd played back on Earth had taught me that if you don't have cash, you can always offer your services as a mercenary in lieu of payment. The Jawas themselves were hardly the most warlike people, so I was confident they'd have some work of that nature lying around. And I was right; the moment I voiced my proposal, they began chattering excitedly in their native dialect—all at once and tripping over one another—grabbing and tugging at my clothes as they vied for my attention.
Most of the jobs were small-time stuff—like "hunt down some local wildlife for meat" and the like—but there were a couple of rather promising gigs involving clearing out caves infested with bandits and Sand People. The little guys had a particular dislike for the latter, and were even willing to pay me a bonus on top of crediting the work toward my payment for their services. Of course, I could always have threatened them with Force Lightning, but my "investment"—namely, Kaleri—clearly wouldn't have appreciated that approach; besides, I didn't really feel inclined to do such a thing myself. So, I ended up hiring myself out as a hunter. However, a small problem arose immediately: all the bandit hideouts marked by the Jawas were quite far away, and I needed to get the hell out of this particular sector of the desert—and off the planet entirely—as fast as humanly possible. Especially considering the bad feeling I had. And so, we were forced to accept a "contract" to harvest the entrails of some local beast whose lair happened to be quite close to our current location.
Once the choice was made—and having left Kaleri and Grana behind to keep an eye on the little rascals—Kem and I flew out there on a speeder we had "borrowed" from them. Surprisingly enough, the Jawas didn't even put up much of a fuss; apparently, they figured that if anything went wrong, they could just shake the money down from our companions instead. Well, good luck to them. Although—no, they wouldn't need it, seeing as I fully intended to return.
As for the monster... It turned out to be some kind of giant lizard. According to the little runt who'd sent me on this errand, it was a fairly young, small specimen—but if a hulking brute the size of *me* counts as "small" and "young" around here, then I shudder to think what they must look like when they're fully grown. While speeding across the desert, I'd spotted massive bones scattered here and there... I wonder—did they belong to this creature's species? In any case, for what felt like the hundredth time, I was seized by an overwhelming urge to get the hell off this "hospitable" little planet—as fast as possible, and as far away as possible.
As for the actual fight with the beast, there isn't much to tell—save for one noteworthy detail: I finally got to use my "focusing crystal." I channeled a blast of Force Lightning through it, attempting to pour the maximum possible charge into the strike—and, surprisingly enough, it worked. The beast staggered for a moment, its muscles twitching uncontrollably, which allowed Kem to approach safely and even clamber onto the nape of its neck.
The monster soon regained its senses, but it was already too late. Although the Dashade's blade wasn't exactly top-quality—managing to pierce the creature's scales only on the fourth strike—the beast was too dazed to comprehend what was happening. Consequently, he was able to swiftly and expertly drive his sword between two vertebrae; with a dying roar, the monster instantly collapsed onto the sand. And just like that, the creature fell. Absolutely no trouble at all. That is, aside from the tracks left in the cave—each the size of my speeder—but that was a problem for the Jawas to handle. I would, of course, honestly tell them about it once they had done what I needed them to do.
Alas, far more time was spent transporting the carcass than actually killing it. We decided to haul the entire thing back in one piece, which meant we were forced to fly at the same sluggish pace as a crawler. At times, I even had to use the Force to levitate our cargo slightly, just to pick up the pace a little. Even so, we didn't make it back until the middle of the night.
The Jawas were delighted with our haul and even paid us a bonus, taking the time to patch up and recharge our ancient speeder. With that done, I moved on to the main phase of my plan. I needed the one thing any sensible person in my position would have sought: my ship. It had been sitting somewhere in the spaceport during the time of my disappearance—since, within the mechanics of the game, it couldn't be located anywhere else on the planet. As for tools to locate it, I possessed a keychain holding an assortment of tracking fobs. Several of these were coded to pick up a specific signal emitted by the ship—wherever it might be hiding... provided, of course, it was still within the confines of the star system. And to my utter disappointment, even after the Jawas used a repeater to broadcast my special commands—backed by Imperial codes—"requesting" a return signal (which, in theory, could have "awakened" the ship even from a state of deep dormancy), nothing happened. No response whatsoever.
Alas, it seemed I needed a larger repeater—one capable not merely of picking up a distress beacon signal, but of specifically identifying *my* ship's unique signature within it. Regrettably, the odds of such an outcome were slim indeed.
Then again, come to think of it, the ship certainly wouldn't have remained stranded on this planet forever. The fact was, there *was* a pilot—albeit a hapless one—still aboard that vessel. That accursed 2B-R8, apparently tired of waiting for me, had followed protocol to contact headquarters; after receiving a dressing-down, he had flown the ship to the nearest Imperial base. From there, he was assigned a new mission and dispatched to fight in the depths of space—where, inevitably, he met his end. Most likely, anyway. In any case, I was duty-bound to at least *try* to locate it; everything else was of secondary importance.
Of course, the ship's cargo hold was packed with all manner of useful items—not to mention the "gifts" for my companions. In the "reality" of the *Star Wars* galaxy, these items were often far more than the mere trinkets the game portrayed them as—objects one could only bestow upon a favorite companion simply to boost their combat prowess, endurance, or healing capabilities (circle one). But searching for all that could wait for another time. Right now, it's all a bit too risky. So, even if I do manage to find a ship somewhere around here and get off Tatooine, my top priority will still be to secure some official papers—either from the Republic or the CIS; basically, anywhere—just so I don't get hassled by both sides. And speaking of which... We needed a ship, and for that, we had to fall back on "Plan B," which went something like this: "Improvise."
So, after getting directions to the nearest city with a spaceport from a group of Jawas—who were cheerfully feasting on the meat of a monster they'd caught—and then "blessing" them with the news about the tracks leading into the cave (thereby making them considerably *less* cheerful—in fact, actually provoking a brawl where everyone turned against "that smart-aleck who gave us the job"), we once again set off into the unknown.
Just to clear my conscience, I should mention that—according to the Jawa chieftain, at least—these monsters, like most reptiles, don't exactly have a highly developed maternal instinct. So, in all likelihood, the mother of that "little" dinosaur wasn't about to come hunting for their souls. He didn't know for *certain*, mind you, but he sounded confident enough; so, I decided to trust his expertise regarding the "specs" of his rickety fortress-crawler and get the hell away from it as fast as possible. You know—just in case.
The sun was gradually rising over Tatooine, casting a faint light across the surrounding landscape; however, this time around, I had no intention of stopping for a midday nap. For some reason, I didn't feel the slightest urge to sleep—absolutely none at all...
XXX
In one of the many cantinas of Mos Eisley—seated in a private room cordoned off from the other patrons, his feet propped up on a table laden with various delicacies—sat a Duros male of remarkably charismatic appearance. Perched jauntily upon his head was a rakish-looking hat, while two long tubes—"connected" directly to his cheeks—served to shield his body from any airborne substances, for he placed a particularly high value on his own physical well-being. And with good reason.
Following the death of Jango Fett, he was rightfully regarded as one of the finest bounty hunters in the galaxy. Although the notion that he was "only considered the best *after* someone else's death" did irk him slightly, he saw no point in trying to prove otherwise. The bottom line was profit; everything else was secondary. That said, for any particularly arrogant idiots who crossed his path, the Duros would—without a shred of remorse—put a blaster bolt through their empty heads. Naturally, he would first make contact with the intended victims—the very individuals he had been hired to eliminate—and cut a deal with them to receive double payment for killing the sentient being who had ordered their assassination.
His name was Cad Bane. At this moment, he was awaiting the arrival of his ship; negotiations had finally concluded, and the time had come to get to work. However, there was a complication. Such occurrences were not exactly rare in his line of work, yet this particular instance stood out slightly: the very same sentient being had been "marked for death" by two separate parties—and within roughly the same timeframe, no less. Typically, in such cases, he would simply side with whoever offered the highest bid; here, however, both options were equally enticing.
One client was a local Hutt; the other was a long-standing patron of his—a figure who perpetually concealed their true identity, yet possessed an obscene amount of credits and connections within the Republic, enabling them to bankroll any job that came their way. And he parted with his money far more readily than the Hutt did—which was precisely why Bane was still weighing his options.
On one hand, there was Jabba: unaware of the competing offer, he had promised a smaller sum; yet, if Bane were to turn down the job, the slug might take offense—and Tatooine, for all its faults, made for a decent base of operations, even if Bane had grown weary of the ceaseless heat and sand. Not that Jabba's wrath would have deterred him significantly, but no one needs unnecessary trouble. On the other hand, the mysterious client had promised double the amount—but he required the target delivered alive, without exception; otherwise, payment would be virtually nil. The Hutt, meanwhile, couldn't care less what condition the target arrived in. And so, he remained undecided on how to proceed.
A few minutes later, as his starship finally arrived on autopilot—hovering directly over the cantina entrance, scattering passersby and sending a blast of air from its roaring engines toppling trinkets from the stalls of street vendors—Bane finally made up his mind.
After all, profit was the primary concern. In this scenario, he would receive payment regardless—even if his target died. Therefore, the strategy was to make every effort to take the quarry alive, while remaining fully prepared to kill them should the need arise. Having reached this decision, he adjusted his distinctive coat—an garment that seemed utterly out of place on such a sweltering planet—and quickly contacted an old acquaintance who, according to his intel, had recently arrived on this dusty orb as well. Jabba had already informed him of the sector where the search was to be conducted; thus, having flown there with dispatch, he pressed a few buttons. Instantly, a swarm of small droids launched from specialized bays within his ship, fanning out across the area to scan for any conceivable life forms while relaying their data back to the cockpit display.
The time had come to study the adversary—to uncover his objectives and his trajectory—before preparing the "playing field" and formulating a plan of action. Regrettably, neither client had provided any supplementary intelligence regarding the target—such as his specific abilities or similar details. Although the Hutt had described the target's presumed appearance—even furnishing an image captured by a droid's camera—Bane knew that, in the course of this mission, he could potentially run up against *anyone*; therefore, he needed to take every possible precaution.