by Jason Fry
“I was swimming,” he said, and Artoo whistled questioningly.
“In my dream, of course,” Luke said, trying to clear the fog from his brain. “I can’t swim. Not much use for it on Tatooine. But in the dream I could.”
Artoo offered a baffled hoot, and Luke smiled.
“Because in the dream I was someone else,” he said, scrubbing his hands through his messy hair. “I don’t understand it either.”
He swung his feet to the floor and walked out onto the balcony. Just a few lights shone in sleeping Tikaroo. Luke looked up into the night and saw two pale moons above.
He immediately recognized them as the same ones he’d seen in his dream, even down to their positions in the sky. The constellations were identical, too.
Devaron. I was dreaming of Devaron. No, not dreaming. It was the Force, giving me another clue about where to go.
Luke leaned on the railing of the balcony and stared out past the great spire on the edge of town, a darker shape against the starry sky.
There was a lake out there in the jungle—a lake an alien Jedi had swum in. And that lake hid a passageway.
Now he knew where he was supposed to go.
Porridge and tarine tea made for a warm, filling breakfast, but Luke got a chilly reception from Porst, and the guides all curtly informed him that they weren’t for hire.
Angry, he stomped out through the depot’s swinging doors into the streets of Tikaroo, with Threepio shuffling hurriedly after him—Luke had sent Artoo to the landing field to check on how Kivas was doing with the repairs.
The villagers glanced at him curiously as he marched through the town, imagining and rejecting various ideas—flying the repaired Y-wing into the jungle, say, or trusting an uncertain combination of Artoo’s sensors and his own shaky command of the Force. He knew neither of those plans was a good one, and the other ideas he came up with were even worse.
There was no help for it—he’d have to go back to the depot and tell the guides that since credits were no object, they should name their price. Surely one of them would be greedy enough to risk a journey to the forbidden towers.
Threepio tapped him on the shoulder.
“Master Luke, I believe that girl from the landing field has been following us.”
Luke glanced back and spotted a slim Devaronian figure with spots on her forehead ducking around the corner of a house. He sighed and strode off in that direction.
Farnay had pressed herself against the wall. She glared at him when he arrived, taking one step to run but then thinking better of it.
“First of all, I wasn’t following you,” she said.
“Who said you were?” Luke asked with a smile.
Color bloomed in Farnay’s cheeks, beneath her thin covering of reddish down.
“All right, maybe I was.”
“That’s better,” Luke said. “I don’t think you’re cut out to be a spy—you just got caught by See-Threepio.”
Farnay scowled. “I…I trailed you to the depot last night and heard you asking about the towers—and about Eedit. I could’ve warned you how they’d react.”
Threepio came clanking up behind Luke, complaining about mud in his joints.
“You know about Eedit?” Luke asked. “What is it?”
“Just a bunch of ruins. But the Empire doesn’t allow anyone to go there. It was a temple for the sorcerers in the old war—before they tried to take over the galaxy and had to be destroyed.”
Luke winced at hearing the Emperor’s lie on the lips of this young girl. But the Imperial propaganda was less important than what Farnay had revealed. The towers were a Jedi temple—and the Force was calling him there.
“So the guides won’t go there because the Empire forbids it?” Luke asked.
“Well, that and it’s haunted—that’s the story, anyway.”
“Haunted? By what?”
“By the spirits of those who died there,” Farnay said. “They say in the end the sorcerers summoned a demon warrior to help them defend against the machines—only the spell went wrong. So the demon killed them and imprisoned them there forever.”
“A demon?” Threepio said. “Oh dear.”
Luke raised an eyebrow, and Farnay shrugged.
“I don’t believe it either,” she said. “I think the guides like telling that story better than admitting that they’re all too afraid of Porst—he owns most of the equipment in Tikaroo, and if you cross him he won’t rent to you. But I can take you there. I know the way. I don’t believe in demons, and I’m not afraid of ghosts.”
Luke must have looked skeptical, because Farnay stamped her foot impatiently.
“Think I can’t? I’ve led hunting parties into the jungle plenty of times, you know. I’ve got my own hunting rifle—a real one, not a peashooter like the one in your holster—and I know how to use it. Brought back plenty of pikhron skins to sell to old Porst, and he knows better than to try and cheat me. Why, I’ve even got a pack beast—all you’ve got to do is lend me the credits to rent a few pieces of gear that we’d need.”
“Wouldn’t we need more than one pack beast?” Luke asked.
Farnay looked away with a scowl.
“Mine will do,” she muttered. “He’s a bit small, but he’s strong.”
“I think I better see this pack beast of yours.”
“Fine,” Farnay said, and marched away, with Luke hurrying to catch up. She led him to a small house on the edge of the jungle. Outside, a leathery-skinned quadruped was tied to a stake. The beast raised its head, munching grass contentedly, and bleated at them.
“I am not programmed for zoology, but this animal appears to be a juvenile,” Threepio said.
Luke sighed and rubbed the beast’s nose, smiling as the animal closed its eyes and chuffed happily.
“I’m sure he’s very strong, Farnay, but the two of us plus my droids would be too much for him to carry. You know that.”
Farnay turned away, head down, and kicked at the dirt.
“But the information about Eedit’s valuable,” Luke said, reaching into his jacket to give her some credits. “Let me—”
Farnay turned, already waving her hand dismissively, but whatever she’d planned to say died in her throat. Her eyes went wide, and Luke realized she’d seen the lightsaber under his jacket. Before he could say anything, she’d taken a step back and drawn a small but wicked-looking pistol from her tool belt.
“You touch that laser sword and I’ll shoot you,” she said. “And you’ll get the same if you try to take over my brain. I’ve heard the stories, so don’t try it.”
Threepio let out a squawk of protest, and Luke raised his hands slowly, imagining his dreams coming to nothing because he’d frightened a teenage farm girl into shooting him.
“Farnay, take it easy,” he said. “I’m not a Jedi—the lightsaber belonged to my father. He’s dead—it’s my only connection to him.”
That was true, he thought sourly.
“What are you then?” Farnay demanded. “You’re paying Dad a crazy amount of credits not to report your ship to the Empire. Are you some kind of rebel?”
“Master Korl is a hyperspace scout, as he told your father,” Threepio said. “Don’t you know it’s rude to question your elders, young lady? To say nothing of pointing weapons at them.”
Something was whispering in Luke’s brain, offering him reassurance—and telling him what to do.
“It’s all right, Threepio. Farnay, put the gun down. We both know you’re not going to shoot me.”
“I will, too!”
Luke lowered his hands slowly and looked into Farnay’s eyes.
“My real name is Luke Skywalker, and I am a rebel—I’m fighting to restore freedom to the galaxy.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” Threepio said.
Farnay blinked at him, then lowered her pistol. Her hands were shaking.
“By getting rid of the Empire? But that would mean chaos…chaos and disorder.”
“No, it wou
ldn’t,” Luke said. “It would mean peace and justice for everyone—instead of just a privileged few.”
“You’re crazy. Overthrowing the Empire is impossible.”
“It’s not impossible,” Luke said, remembering how he’d used the Force to guide his proton torpedo to its target on the Death Star. “Sometimes it feels that way, I know. But people like me are working together on thousands of worlds to resist the Empire. And on thousands more worlds, people are realizing that the Empire’s order comes at an enormous price—planets ruined and lives lost. All to feed the Emperor’s greed.”
Farnay looked off into the jungle.
“Before the war with the droids, when my parents were young, people in this town were farmers,” she said. “They followed the old ways, living in harmony with the forest elders—that’s what pikhron means in our language. Then the Empire came. Their governor wanted to go on a pikhron hunt, but no one would take him. So the Empire told us we couldn’t send our crops to market—they left them to rot in the fields. It was lead the hunts or starve.”
Luke nodded. It was a small cruelty compared with the crushing of freedom on so many worlds, not to mention the obliteration of Alderaan. But Luke knew the Empire wasn’t just warships and stormtroopers. It was a billion small cruelties, grinding up what people cherished and leaving ruin and hopelessness behind.
“Now most of the villagers don’t care about the old ways, and there aren’t many pikhrons left in the jungle,” Farnay said. “My father makes his living fixing the outlanders’ starships—he won’t serve as a guide.”
“But you do,” Luke said gently.
“My mother died last year,” Farnay said, tears starting in her eyes. “I had to do something, or we would have lost our house. Dad was so angry with me, but what choice did I have? But it doesn’t matter—no one hires me unless there isn’t anybody else left. I’ve never bagged a pikhron.”
“No skins, huh?”
“None,” Farnay said, then smiled wanly. “I’m not sad about that part. But things will be different now, here in Tikaroo. That’s why the rebels sent you here, isn’t it? To help us.”
“No,” Luke said. “I wasn’t sent here. I was…called. To the temple.”
Farnay took a step back, looking wary. She slowly began to raise her blaster.
“Called? Called by what?”
“I don’t know,” Luke admitted. “It’s…hard to explain. But I’m afraid my mission is there, not here.”
Farnay turned away, head bowed in disappointment.
“But if you’re patient, I promise I’ll find a way to help Tikaroo,” he said. “Somehow what I find in the temple will show me how to do that.”
“I don’t understand,” Farnay said.
Luke smiled. He could almost feel the Force, humming around them, binding the jungle and its creatures together.
“Neither do I,” Luke said. “Not yet. But I will.”
WHEN LUKE AND THREEPIO returned to the depot a lean alien was sitting in a chair on the porch, cleaning a long, boxy-looking blaster rifle. As the young rebel approached, the alien lifted his head—and Luke took a reflexive step backward.
He saw no visible eyes or mouth, just four segmented plates of chitin, the largest at the top. Small bristles lined the gaps between the plates, waving slightly. The rest of the alien’s head was hidden beneath a battered old helmet of gray metal. Black tubes ran from the helmet’s cheeks to a control box strapped to the alien’s chest, tucked between bandoliers with bulging pockets. From the control box, two more tubes extended back over his shoulders.
The alien’s forearms were covered with chitinous plates resembling the ones on his head, and studded with wispy hairs. He wore a torn cape over his left shoulder, and mismatched armor protected his left forearm and right shoulder.
Luke couldn’t remember seeing an alien of his species before. He wondered what purpose the control box and tubes served. Were they breathing tubes? Did this species even breathe?
The alien finished inspecting the rifle and cocked his head at the two new arrivals. Despite his lack of eyes, Luke had the feeling he was being scrutinized—and not particularly favorably.
“You’re Marcus—the outlander who wants to go on a pikhron hunt.”
The words emerged from a vocoder grill at the helmet’s chin. The voice was deep and low, like the rumble of an approaching storm.
“I’m not a hunter, but I want to hire a guide, yes. Are you available, Mr.…?”
“Sarco Plank.” The blank face seemed to regard Luke, and the cilia between the plates vibrated feverishly. “I’ll take you into the jungle. For the right price.”
Luke felt a strange current rippling in the Force.
“All of the other guides said no,” he said. “Why are you different?”
“Because I don’t listen to tall tales about ghosts and sorcerers. And because I have my own gear and mounts. So there’s nothing that old Porst can do about it.”
That feeling in the Force was still there, like a bad taste in Luke’s mouth. He didn’t know if it was connected to Sarco, or something else. But even if it was a warning about Sarco, what could he do? Farnay’s half-grown pack beast would never be able to take them, and no other guides were available. It was either go with Sarco or risk the journey on his own. And he had a rebel mission to get back to.
“Very well,” Luke said, wondering if he was making a mistake—and if so, what price he would pay for it.
Two hours later, Luke came down from his room with the droids to find Sarco outside the depot with a pair of massive creatures. They had gray flesh, broad flat noses, and beady black eyes that were almost invisible in their wrinkled faces. Their forelegs were stubby, ending in broad feet, while the back legs were longer and powerful-looking.
Sarco cinched a howdah over one of the beast’s shoulders and tightened it. The creature grunted in protest, and Sarco aimed a kick at its head, causing it to open a broad gash of a mouth filled with flat yellow teeth. It snapped at Sarco, stomping each foot in turn.
“We might as well be devoured right here,” Threepio said mournfully, and Artoo let out an electronic moan.
“The happabores don’t eat flesh,” Sarco said. “Or metal. Just stay away from their mouths. And feet.”
“That doesn’t make me feel much safer,” Threepio said.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Luke said, trying to conceal his own doubt. “Come on, Threepio, let’s get you and Artoo saddled up.”
He and Sarco struggled to get Threepio up onto the seat atop the smaller happabore, with the golden droid protesting mightily. Luke then tied Artoo on his side behind Threepio. He tugged on the ropes to make sure the astromech was secure, and Artoo hooted unhappily, rotating his dome to fix his single electronic eye reproachfully on Luke.
“I know you don’t like it,” Luke said, patting the droid’s side. “I don’t like it, either. We’ll get you down from there as soon as possible.”
As Sarco secured a pair of hunting rifles to the lead happabore’s howdah, Farnay came charging around the corner of the depot. She stopped short, mouth a shocked O, and then balled her hands into fists.
“Uh-oh,” Luke said.
“So it’s true, then,” she said. “I didn’t want to believe it! You’re actually going into the woods with the Scavenger!”
“You know I don’t like that name,” Sarco growled. “Or kids telling tales.”
“Tales about what?” Farnay asked. “Your customers who don’t come back?”
She turned to Luke, eyes pleading.
“He’s a wicked creature—don’t go with him! I’m begging you!”
“Perhaps it would be better if Artoo and I stayed here and supervised repairs,” Threepio said.
Luke put his hands on Farnay’s shoulders.
“I’ll be careful,” he said quietly. “Remember, I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve.”
“So does he,” Farnay said. Tears started in her eyes and she wiped at them. The
n she ran off.
“Time to go, Marcus,” Sarco said, stepping on a stubby horn behind the happabore’s eye and swinging himself up onto the howdah’s forward seat.
Luke looked sadly in the direction Farnay had gone, then put his hands uncertainly on the happabore’s shoulder. The gray flesh was thick and tough, but warm to the touch. Bracing himself, he clambered up onto the howdah’s rear seat, his jacket flapping open as the structure swayed beneath them.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Threepio said as Sarco jabbed a prod into the side of the happabore’s head and the huge beasts picked their way down the narrow path that led past the massive spire looming over Tikaroo and into the jungle.
It took a few minutes for Luke to get used to the jolting gait of the happabores and take a real look at the Devaronian jungle surrounding them. It was cool beneath the towering trees, with bird cries punctuating the rising and falling thrum of insects calling to one another. The happabores clambered over tangles of massive tree roots, their tiny eyes peering out at the trail ahead.
Artoo offered a quiet beep from his place atop the rear happabore.
“Peaceful?” Threepio snapped. “You’re obviously malfunctioning. I expect that any moment we’ll be stomped to bits. Or bitten in two by some monstrous predator.”
“Or turned to scrap by a swarm of metal-eating bugs,” Luke said with a grin. “Don’t forget that one.”
Sarco turned to regard the protocol droid. The chitinous plates of his head reminded Luke unsettlingly of overgrown toenails.
“Or blown to bits because you won’t shut up,” he said.
“Oh dear,” Threepio said in a small voice.
“He’s just kidding, Threepio,” Luke said, then sensed something nearby. He peered into the jungle, trying to make sense of the rippling patterns of color and shade.
“Wait,” he said, putting his hand on Sarco’s shoulder. The alien shook it off, but tapped his mount with his prod. The happabore halted, its pinkish snout quivering, and gave a low moan that sounded like it was in pain.