Through Victory Sidestory -- Star Wars: A New Fear

A familiar story... with a twist. Most of you are probably familiar with the saga - don't even need to name it. A boy on a desert world, his journey to become a hero and save the galaxy. Only in this retelling, there's another who rises up to meet him.  

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In a distant corner of the galaxy, a lone escape pod descended through the atmosphere of a barren desert world. And soon after it, spacecraft followed.

They were behind it by only a day, maybe a little more. The two craft descended through the sky, down towards the vast sea of sand below. Before them rose a thin column of black smoke in the distance, their sole reason for coming to the wasteland. Visually, the two craft were similar yet very distinct. While both had dull gray exteriors with black highlights and near-identical central cockpit pods, the similarities ended there. Where one had three pylons connecting to jagged and angular wings, the other had just two, connecting to a pair of sloping, elegant panels. Neither were unarmed, each sporting laser cannons mounted on the wings and cockpit pods, respectively. Someone looking upon either of the craft would have felt one emotion, something the designers of each had no doubt strived toward to elicit:

Fear.

Both of the craft dove towards the surface, cutting above the desert landscape below. To most people, there was little of interest on this remote backwater. The planet held little of value in terms of minerals, if only because they had all been mined out long ago. Its bone dry atmosphere and desert climate made farming prohibitively difficult if not outright impossible. But to others…

To others, Tatooine was perfect. While far and away from the Empire’s notice, its proximity to one of the largest hyperlane routes in the galaxy meant criminal activity could readily flourish on the world, unimpeded by laws or regulations. And flourish it did, in many shapes and forms. From smuggling and slavery, to gambling and crimes of all sorts. But the criminal elements of the planet didn’t interest the pilots of the spacecraft. Their interests lay elsewhere.

The two craft slowed, the escape pod now visible to the pilots. It lay on its side, the exterior hatch open to the elements. In a blast of dust and sand the two craft touched down, engines whining as they shut down. In unison, hatches popped open on the tops of both craft, and the occupants emerged from within.

Like their craft, they were visually very similar. Black garb, lithe, toned and clearly female forms. Both wore helmets and were clad in an black cloak that fluttered behind them as they dropped off of their craft to the sand below.

The latter of the two, the pilot of the twin winged craft, looked to the former, whose gaze was focused solely on the escape pod. “That is the pod Lord Vader told us about. No sign of any occupants however.”

The former of the two said nothing in reply. She merely walked through the sands toward the crashed escape pod, silent as always. Reluctantly the other followed, wary of any dangers or threats that might lurk in the dunes. She had neither seen nor sensed any, but that wasn’t an excuse to throw caution to the wind.

Up close, the pod was nothing noteworthy. Dull grey metal, scorched by the heat of re-entry. The source of the smoke column rising into the cloudless sky was the pod’s engine cluster, still smoking even after almost a day. The inside was no doubt just as dull and utilitarian as the outside, and neither of them needed to look inside to know it was vacant.

No, the evidence so was readily apparent in the two sets of tracks leading from the pod, out toward a rocky ridge off in the distance.

The former walked over to look at them more closely, her gaze following the tracks up and towards the distant ridgeline. “Droids.”

“Yes,” the Seventh Sister answered. “Two of them. Judging from the three lines, one of them is an astromech droid. The other is probably a protocol droid, from the close and even footsteps.” The Seventh Sister looked out towards the rocks in the distance. “Thy can’t have gotten far, not in that terrain.”

Silba said nothing as she continued to regard the tracks. “They have a mission. And help.”

“How do you know?” The Sister asked.

“They are here for, not something, but…” she trailed off. “Someone. I can sense them.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. There’s someone here. And someone… old. We should be careful.”

The Seventh Sister said nothing for a brief moment. “Do you know what these droids have?” For Vader to pull us away from our mission and to suddenly send us here, it must be important.”

“A message.”

“What kind?”

“Our Lord didn’t tell me. I didn’t ask.” Silba began walking, following the two sets of tracks, the Seventh Sister following close behind. The Sister gestured back in the direction of her fighter, and on cue a cluster of black shapes flew out of her craft, darting through the air and across the sands toward her. They were small things, each with five articulated limbs, and their chassis glossy black and dominated by a single front-facing lens.

“The tracks,” she whispered, gesturing to the sands. “Follow them, fly ahead of us. Find the droids, but do not approach. And inform me if and when you do.” The trio of Mimics warbled and chittered and darted off, splitting up as they flew away.

Silba quietly regarded the probe droids as they flew off, and together they silently walked towards the craggy hills, following the path the droids took before them.

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“Well, this... complicates matters.”

“Yes, it does.”

They both stared at the massive ruts in the sand. Nearly half a meter deep and several wide, they were the gouges left by some sort of massive tracked vehicle as it lumbered over and through the rock and sand, grinding literal trenches as it went. They cut sharply through the dunes, disappearing into the horizon.

Silba crouched, dipping a hand into the loose sand and pulling out a handful, before letting the stuff run through her fingers. “They were intercepted.”

“By the person they were here to find?” The Sister asked.

“No. A third party.” Silba stood, her gaze following the tracks. “Where is the advance force?”

The Seventh Sister checked the info-feed in her helmet. “They’ve just launched taken off in shuttles from the local garrison.”

“Update them of this development,” she said, gesturing to the tracks. “Inform them to rendezvous with us mid-flight while we find the vehicle that made these tracks.”

“Judging from the direction these tracks are going, they might encounter this vehicle before we do.”

“I see then,” Silba replied. “Then order them to find the vehicle that made these tracks. If the droids are still aboard, detain them. If not, interrogate whoever else is on board and find out where they are. And- and...”  Silba stopped, abruptly standing straight up. She looked up, craning her neck towards the sky.

“Silba?”

“Lord Vader,” she spoke. “He wishes to speak with me.”

The Sister was suddenly quiet, her pose becoming rigid. “Oh. I see.” Silba noticed her rubbing her right wrist, something the Sister did almost unconsciously whenever the Dark Lord’s name was mentioned.

Silba turned to look at her companion. “We will meet up with the local stormtroopers, aid them if need be.” Almost on cue, the air was filled with a distinctive whine as their crafts coasted over the nearby ridge and landed in the ruts, guided by requests made to their autopilot systems.

“What of your… conversation then?”

“I will commune with him while we are in flight.” She strode towards her fighter, hopping up to board it through the top hatch, and the Seventh Sister did the same with hers. In moments they were again airborne, flying low across the desert and following the great ruts in the sand.

Silba relaxed in the control seat of her fighter. She let the Seventh Sister take the lead, instructing her ship’s autopilot systems to follow her. With that small matter of the way, she turned her attention to another matter.

Her Master.

She could sense him, even across the gulf of space. Could sense him wanting to speak to her through the Force. Behind her mask, Silba closed her eyes, slipping into a meditative trance as she began to dive into the Dark Side of the Force, her hands gripping the armrests of her seat as she began to concentrate.

It was taxing for her to do this, the act of sending a portion of herself out into the vastness of space draining her Force reserves faster than almost anything else. As the confines of her fighter’s cockpit faded away and the vast aether-like fabric of the Force replaced it, she sought him out, the man she now called her Master. He was far away aboard his personal starship, meditating himself. Her apparition coalesced, and Silba’s featureless pitch-black avatar found itself within the room housing his meditation chamber. It was dark, the lights unnecessary and therefore dimmed and the chamber itself was sealed, her Master no doubt within.

No sooner had her projection taken form than the chamber before Silba began to open. Condensate hissed out from within as the top half rose to the ceiling, the hyperbaric seal breaking and revealing the black-garbed occupant within. He sat facing away from her, and as the chair rotated its occupant to face her she quickly knelt to the deck, bowing her head in both respect and deference.

“Lord Vader,” she finally spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Silba,” Her Master replied. “How goes your task?”

“Well,” she replied curtly. “We have found the trail left by the droids.”

“Trail?”

“They have been… intercepted.” There was no point in lying to or deceiving her Master.

“By whom?”

“Unknown, my Lord,” she spoke. “But we are following their trail as we speak. It is not difficult to follow.”

Her Master said nothing for a moment. His expression was impossible to know, behind the faceplate of his mask. “The droids, they have yet to make contact with the Rebel Alliance?”

“I believe so, my Lord.”

“You believe, Silba. But do not merely believe. Ensure so.”

“Of course,” her apparition spoke. The chamber before her began to once more seal around her Master, and Silba took that as her cue. A moment later and she was back in her own weak shell, gasping heavily at the exertion. It was always painful for her, returning to her own body and mortal senses. It came back to her in a rush of sensation; every photoreceptor in her eyes, every pain receptor, every sound. She lay limp in her seat, the harness the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor oh her fighter’s cockpit.

“Silba,” a voice crackled through her comms, “Have you… returned to your senses?”

“Yes, I have. Anything to note?”

“A couple of abandoned shacks, a lone farmstead,” she replied. “The vehicle we’re following stopped there, judging from the detour the ruts took towards it.”

“A farmstead? How do people farm in this desert?” She asked.

“They don’t farm crops,” The Sister answered. “They farm moisture. Machines that pull water vapor from the air. Water is often a valuable commodity on predominantly desert planets.”

“Water.” Silba looked at the desert beneath their fighters. “That makes sense. Why wouldn’t people import it from another world then?”

“Then the Hutt Clan wouldn’t make as many credits by taxing it.”

“Of course.” Silba had heard of the Hutt Clan. An entire alien race that had largely dedicated themselves to criminal enterprises. Her first and only encounter with an… example of the species had been a year before. She had still been shadowing her Master, and she had watched him strike the creature down for having the audacity to defy the Emperor.

Silba’s thoughts were interrupted by the Sister speaking. “Anyone who’s stuck a toe into the criminal underside of the galaxy has heard of this planet. Tatooine, A barely habitable rock along the Corellian Run. There used to be mining operations here, but they dried up decades ago, along with the water.”

“Who controls this world?” Silba asked. She turned her attention to the world beyond the canopy of her fighter’s cockpit. An empty and cloudless blue sky above, and a featureless brown desert below, marred only by the snaking tracks of their quarry.

“Ostensibly, the Empire,” The Seventh Sister answered after a pause. “In reality, the Hutt Clan, as well as the pirates, smugglers and bounty hunters they employ to enforce their will on the local populace.”

“You said ostensibly in regards to the Empire,” Silba noted. “What is their presence here?”

“Not much. A couple of recruiting stations here and there, a consulate in this planet’s so-called capital. And a garrison of Stormtroopers to defend it all.”

“Do you feel that they are compromised by these Hutt?”

“Silba, there’s a good reason I was so strongly against us asking them for help.”

“I see.” Despite her partner’s misgivings, Silba had called ahead to the local Imperial officials, instructing them to have a detachment to meet them by shuttle after they arrived a detachment that was no doubt on their way. “Are they still en route, our so-called ‘allies?’”

“A portion of the garrison departed from Mos Espa just after you… left, to speak with Lord Vader.”

“I see. It is good to know we will soon be surrounded by adversaries.”

“That is one way of looking at things. And another, in addition to what’s before us.”

Silba didn’t need to inquire as to what she meant. For she too saw what The Sister was seeing: They had caught up to the machine leaving the tracks.

At first, it was just a brown smudge on a near-equally brown expanse of dry riverbed. As they approached however, its appearance became stark, even against the backdrop of the terrain. The vehicle, if it could be called as much, was a large, boxy, top-heavy construct riding on massive industrial tracks across the sands. The sides were uniform, the front sloped out, not unlike the prow of some sort of sailing vessel. The rear was a mess of industrial piping and exhaust ports, as was the topside. As their fighters zipped past and Silba swung her craft around, she spotted what might have been a cockpit or bridge of the massive, building like vehicle at its very front and top.

“A sandcrawler,” the Sister explained. “They were used to support mining operations. And judging from the creatures scampering around the bridge, it’s crewed by Jawa.”

Silba followed the Sister as they swung around a second time, slowing their speed to match the sandcrawler’s clip through the shallow valley. Abruptly, their broadband comms were filled with the high pitched squeaks and squeals of what Silba presumed to be the primitive language the Jawa spoke. “Can you translate?” she asked.

“I don’t know their tongue, unfortunately,” The Sister said. “A protocol droid would come in handy right about now.” The squeals became more high-pitched and angry, and Silba noticed more of the Jawa were swarming the top deck of the crawler. Some swarmed towards what looked to be a heavy weapons emplacement, mounted at the edge of the deck. “It’s a good thing that they have a translator aboard.”

“Yes,” Silba replied with a word. She guided her fighter over the roof of the crawler, still keeping pace with the lumbering machine. She flicked a switch and above her, the fighter’s cockpit hatch swung up, letting a blast of hot air tear into her cockpit. “But I already know a language we both speak.”

“Oh?”

Beneath her mask, Silba grinned. “Violence.”

Silba didn’t need to lay eyes on the Sister’s face to see the savage grin spreading across it. “Do you need help?”

“No,” she replied quickly. She pulled herself up to the top of her fighter’s cockpit, standing on the roof of it as she looked down at the now panicking Jawa. They had started to fire weapons up at her, the shots harmlessly splashing off of her fighter’s shielding. “Coordinate with our ‘allies,’ tell them to make haste as they might have prisoners to detain.”

“Might?”

“Might,” Silba said, drawing one of her lightsabers and igniting it. And without another word, she stepped from the edge and dropped down to the Jawa below.

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Despite the immense size and mass of the sandcrawler, its crew was comparatively tiny. Silba could only sense eight of the so-called Jawa creatures inside the vehicle, yet she got the impression it could carry a far larger crew. Six of their number had spilt out through hatches on the roof to greet her, while two more remained in the cockpit area at the top front.

The instant her feel hit the roof, the Jawa resumed firing at her with their crude weaponry. Ion blasters, crude and homemade, designed to stun their target instead of killing it. She parried the blasts effortlessly, sending them back to their senders with mere flicks of her lightsaber. The six Jawa were struck by six different blasts almost simultaneously, dropping to the deck like flies. Silba didn’t know what line of reasoning had motivated the creatures to attempt to use non-lethal weapons on her, but it had been a fatal decision, metaphorically speaking.

Nearby, one of the Jawa half moaned, half squeaked in pain, somehow less stunned than its comrades. Perhaps its blaster needed maintenance. The creature staggered up, back onto its feet. It looked up at Silba, and she brought her saber close to its face. It almost fell back, over the side of the crawler to the sands below. Through its black facemask and opaque goggles, Silba couldn’t begin to fathom what thoughts lay behind that mask. Fear? Anger? It would have been trivial to cut the Jawa down - a flick of her prosthetic wrist, a quick jab. A nudge with the Force, to send it plummeting to its death below. Her Master… he would have approved.

Her Master wasn’t here though.

Silba sighed, lowering her lightsaber. “Tend to your fallen,” she said, gesturing to the Jawa’s fallen comrades. Turning away, she strode towards the nearest open hatch and dropped through it into the crawler below.

If the exterior of the crawler was decrepit, than the corridor she now stood in was downright repulsive. Dim, flickering lighting, rusty floors and ceiling. Grimy and filthy walls on both sides of her, caked with Force knew what. Silba was glad she had the forethought to install a rebreather apparatus into her mask, because she didn’t want to breathe even a whiff of the air around her.

She turned her mind away from her surroundings and towards the remaining Jawa, both of whom were in the cockpit at the end of the corridor.. The door to the cockpit was sealed shut, but that proved to be no obstacle to her. And with a few slashes of a lightsaber she carved a hole through it. The instant the triangular section of doorway fell inward, an ion blast was fired through the gap at her. She parried it with her lightsaber, sending it back towards the attacker as she had before. She stepped through the door, mindful of the still-glowing edges and laid eyes on the cockpit. 

The room was every bit as dirty and disgusting as the rest of the sandcrawler she had seen, which hadn’t been much. A bank of controls lined the front of the small room. It was ringed on three sides by windows, serving as the primary source of light at the moment. More control panels and displays lined the rear bulkhead, many of which were broken, cannibalized for parts or in disrepair. Before her, the Jawa that had shot at her slumped by the controls, knocked out by its own reflected attack. Which left just one. It seemed a little taller than the rest, its posture defiant despite its situation, despite what it had just witnessed. Silba decided that it was the leader of this little troupe of aliens. It was armed she realized, a cobbled-together blaster pistol held in one hand. The Jawa looked to its fallen comrade, back to her, as if debating what to do.

Then it raised its blaster.

Silba didn’t need a gesture, just a thought. And with a thought, the Jawa’s weapon was ripped from its hands and sent flying to one of hers.

“Your people are trying to avoid killing me,” Silba spoke, dropping the scrap pistol and letting it clatter to the deck. “Noble, yet misguided.” This time with a gesture, she wrenched the Jawa up by his- her- its neck, the small creature struggling in her grasp. “However, I am feeling… better than most days. I will return the gesture and spare your lives, provided you tell me where the droids are.” Around them the sand crawler ground to a halt, but Silba disregarded it for the moment.

“Droids?” The Jawa squeaked in Basic.

“I care only for two, an astromech and a protocol. The astromech is blue and white, and the protocol is dull gold. You picked them up in the desert a day ago.”

The Jawa said nothing in reply, only gasped for breath where it hung in the air. Silba tightened her grip. “I won’t ask twice.”

“Bought,” It squeaked. “By farmer!”

Behind her mask, Silba narrowed her eyes, tying her grip on the Jawa’s neck. “Who?” She demanded.

The Jawa struggled more, gasping for breath. Silba relaxed it, but still kept a firm grip.

“L- Lars!” It squealed. “Human! Farmer!”

The Jawa... wasn’t lying. Silba recalled what the Sister had said earlier. A couple of abandoned shacks, a lone farmstead. The vehicle we’re following stopped there, judging from the detour the ruts took towards it. Silba released her grasp on the pitiful creature, letting it drop to the deck in a heap of tattered robes. Without any more words to it, she turned away to walk out the way she came in-

Only to come face to face with one of the Sister’s mimic droids. It hovered there in the doorway, watching her. It waved an appendage at her, warbling a greeting as it did.

“I didn’t need help, Sister,” Silba spoke.

“I didn’t help,” the Sister replied. “I only sent one of them to act as a backup, just in case. And the rest to stop the crawler.Oh, and to restrain the remaining Jawa.”

“Helping.”

“The crawler would have driven into a ravine if I hadn’t stopped it. And two of the Jawa were about to lay siege to the crawler’s bridge with heavy weapons.”

Silba sighed with a shrug. “Did you hear it?”

“I didn’t know they spoke Basic,” the Sister said. “I’ve ordered one of the dropships to the farmstead we passed. The other is on their way here. It’ll actually be here any moment. Also, I checked below with my other mimics, just to be absolutely certain. The two droids we’re looking for aren’t aboard this dungpile.”

“It was telling the truth.” Silba brushed past the mimic, the droid following her and acting as a mouthpiece for its master. She walked out the door, past a pair of unconscious and bound Jawa that had been trying to crew some sort of laser cannon between them. Silba leapt up through the hatch she had entered, landing on the sandcrawler’s roof. Most of the Jawa were still unconscious. She looked up at her fighter, the craft dropping down to let her board it.

“So, moisture farm?” the Sister asked.

“That’s what the Jawa said.” Silba leapt up, landing on her fighter’s roof and slipping back inside.

“Well, let’s go hunting.”

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