Thread: Star Wars: A New Dawn (TheCorsair, Xanaphia)

Luke stepped stepped into the blazing heat of the Tatooine afternoon, the air dry and doubly hot in contrast to the shaded interior of the transport. Around him, Stormtroopers dismounted and took up guard positions. I hope this one pays off, one of them grumbled, then straightened to attention as Luke glancee at him. I mean, that is... No, I agree, he said with a hint of a smile. This planet is unpleasant, isn't it? He'd studied his father's records from the Clone Wars, and had learned that a certain level of familiarity and friendship with the common soldiers - combined with competence and strict but fair discipline - earned loyalty. Perhaps it wasn't the way of the Sith, but so what? Slaves were bound by chains, while the Force freed you. Still, he'd seen all he wanted to see of Tatooine. The landing sites of the escape pods had oroved fruitless, so he and his sister and their troops had begun visiting the local moisture farms to ask questions. Now he strode towards the last one, a typical underground dwelling on the edge of the Jundland Wastes. Who are they? The Lars family, sir, a Stormtrooper supplied. Owen and Beru. The names sounded slightly familiar, and they looked familiar as he approached. He was tall and stocky and strong, and she was broad and matronly, and both stared a littlecas he approached. Good afternoon, he said, removing his hood. I am... Annie? gasped the woman, Beru. Her husband Owen nudged her with his elbow. Luke made the connection instantly. Luke. Lord Luke Vader. He watched their eyes. Son of the Lord Darth Vader. I'm looking for two droids. He produced a holodisk, displaying an image of an astromech droid and a protocol droid. Have you seen them? Plenty of droids on the farm, Owen said. But none like them. He peered at the image. Have you tried the Jawas? I saw one of their crawlers this morning, when I was out on the south ridge, it stopped for a while, like it was collecting something, then headed out into the wastes. Luke snapped the display off and tucked it away. Thank you. There is a reward for their recovery. I'll see that you receive it, if this leads me to them. He turned to leave, then paused at the door of the transport. Uncle. The look of shock on their faces made him smile. It had been an eventful day, much more so than he had become accustomed to in the Wastes. What had begun with a routine trip into Anchorhead to trade for supplies had ended with a chance encounter with a burnt-out wreck of a sandcrawler. He'd have put it down to an atypical Sandpeople attack, except that all the signs were that the damage had been inflicted from inside . A Jawa civil war, perhaps? And then there were the droids. It wasn't surprising to find droids near Jawas, but it was surprising to find them independent and unrestrained. And it was even more surprising when the protocol droid identified him by name - by his real name - and proclaimed they were a gift, and that they had a message for him. He considered destroying them then, because they were clearly a trap, until they said who had sent them. Bail Organa. A name he hadn't heard in nearly two decades. Right, he said, opening the door to his dwelling. Come on on. He caught sight of himself in a small mirror as he unshouldered his bags. Shoulder-length grey hair and a matching grey beard, and seamed, sun-beaten skin. His eyes were grey as well, the dull grey of the pitted steel that had replaced the eyes he'd been born with. So, give me this message, he demanded, beating sand from his outer robe. You heard our master, Beetee, the protocol droid said in its diffident voice. The astromech droid bleeped, and the protocol droid sighed. No, you simply may not. He is our master, now! The droid looked at him. My apologies, Master Quentin. He is being stubborn. Quite all right, Triple-Zero, Quentin said, taking a seat on one of the two chairs in the spartan room. I have all the time in the world. The two droids bickered for a minute, and finally BT-1's projector flickered into life. A translucent image of Bail Organa flickered into life. Quentin, it said, years ago you served the Republic. And look what it cost me, Quentin grumbled, as if the recording could hear him. Now, I beg you to serve it once more in the struggle against the Empire. I would ask this request in person, but my ship has fallen under attack. Shit. Quentin sat up straighter and paid attention. Bail was a Senator and the Prince Consort of Alderaan. Who would attack him? I have placed information vital to the survival of the rebellion into the memory systems of this droid, information about the weapon used by the Empire to destroy the holy city NiJedha. Oh, this gets better, Quentin groaned. Even with his crippled perceptions he'd felt that, and hadn't believed the official Imperial story that terrorists had destroyed the city. Some of the rebel groups were lunatics, but all of them had a reverence bordering on obsession for the Jedi. My wife will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Quentin Hall. You're my only hope. He stared at the empty spot where the recording had played, brooding. Then, sharply, he looked up. Lost in the message and his thoughts, he hadn't noticed the figure that entered his home. With a grunt he came to his feet, the white blade of his lightsaber igniting as he dimly sensed the aura of darkness it carried. Another of those Inquisitors, or... Then he saw her clearly, and shock coursed through him. Kaydia?