by James Luceno
But again came the waves of the yammosk’s thought-energy, rippling through them, pulling at Miko’s heart and chipping at his willpower.
Danni understood. The creature wanted him to show his fear, wanted him to break into a tirade of despair and hopelessness.
“Fight it, Miko,” she whispered, and she wished that she, too, was a Jedi, so that she could somehow communicate to the man, lend him her strength that he might die honorably.
Miko tried to look away, or down, tried to close his eyes and muster his internal strength. He was determined to meet his doom with courage and calm, but he could not keep his eyes closed. The yammosk would not let him. He knew then that this was the end, a horrible, painful death. He saw the maw, growing larger and larger, saw the rows and rows of smaller teeth behind that dominant fang, then saw, as he inched even closer, the fleshy interior of the creature’s mouth.
He had never been afraid of death—he was a Jedi Knight—but something was different here than he had ever foreseen, some darker sense of dread and emptiness that questioned his very faith. Logically he knew the source to be the yammosk, a trick of the telepathic creature, but logic could not hold against the waves of despair and horror, against the certain knowledge that this was the very end of existence!
Closer, closer. The mouth opened and closed, chewing before the meal had arrived.
Closer, closer.
“Anybody here care to lend a hand?” Han asked sarcastically, ending with a frustrated sigh. Anakin had just put the Millennium Falcon down on Sernpidal—no easy feat, as the planet did not boast much in the way of landing docks. Basically they had come down within a walled field, on the ground, in the middle of the low, sprawling city. While there was plenty of activity around them, people of various species rushing to and fro, there seemed to be little or no organization to it all, and certainly not a one had made any movements to help with the unloading of the Falcon.
Finally, Han rushed out the door of the walled bay, into the path of two locals, white-skinned men with red eyes, wearing the traditional Sernpidal dress: red-striped white robes with huge hoods.
“Who runs the dock?” Han asked.
“Tosi-karu!” one of the men screamed frantically, and both started to run away.
“Well, where do I find this Tosi-karu?” Han demanded of the speaker, moving swiftly to intercept.
“Tosi-karu!” the albino yelled again, pointing to the sky, and when Han tried to hinder the man’s progress, he slapped Han’s hands away and did a nifty spin move, sprinting away to the side.
“Tosi-karu!” Han yelled after him. “Where?”
“Oh, you would have to look up to see that one, I fear,” came another voice, calm and controlled.
Han turned to see an older man, not an albino Sernpidalian, leaning on a staff.
“He flies?” Han asked skeptically.
“Orbits would be a better word,” the old man replied. “Although she could fly, I believe, if the local legends concerning the goddess are true.”
“Goddess?” Han echoed, shaking his head. “Wonderful. So we put down during some kind of holy day.”
“Not really.”
Han looked around at the continuing bustle, particularly of the locals, rushing, averting their eyes. “I’d hate to see it during the holy days, then,” he muttered. He turned back to the old man. “Are you the dockmaster?”
“Me?” the man asked with an incredulous chuckle. “Why, I’m just an old man, come out to spend my last days in peace.”
“Then where is the dockmaster?”
“Don’t know that there is one,” the old man answered. “We don’t get much traffic out here.”
“Wonderful,” Han muttered. “I’ve got a hold full of goods—”
“Oh, I suspect you’ll find little trouble in getting them unloaded,” the old man said with a chuckle.
“You should stop and help us,” Anakin said to a group of Sernpidalians at the doors on the other side of the walled bay. He put tremendous Force emphasis on the suggestion, weighting the word should heavily.
The Sernpidalians slowed and turned to regard the boy and the Wookiee, and for a moment, it seemed as if they meant to stop and help. But then one yelled “Tosi-karu!” and the group hustled away.
Chewie howled.
“What do you mean, Luke could do it better?” Anakin asked. “They’re obviously preoccupied.”
Chewie let out a series of growls and roars.
“Yes, it does matter!” Anakin insisted.
It wasn’t often that Anakin heard the Wookie chuckle, and the sound cut deeply when aimed at him. “I’ll get this fellow,” he said, moving toward another Sernpidalian who was hustling by.
Chewie’s huge arm draped in front of Anakin’s chest, easily holding him back. Then the Wookiee stepped right in front of the Sernpidalian and, when the albino tried to move around him, froze the man in place with a great Wookiee roar.
Only for a second, though, and then the Sernpidalian turned on his heel and ran screaming away.
“Oh, you’re right,” Anakin said dryly. “That’s much more effective.”
Chewie, eyes narrowed dangerously, turned to regard him.
Han looked at the old man skeptically.
“He’s a big one,” the old man noted, eyes wide, and Han heard Chewie moving behind him. He turned to see the Wookiee and Anakin, with Chewie grumbling about something and Anakin shaking his head.
“They won’t even stop to listen,” Anakin complained. “I can’t even begin to tell if there’s any organization to this place. Chewie scared a few, but they just yelled some things I didn’t understand and ran off.”
Han considered the words for a moment, then glanced at the old man, and back at Anakin. “What are you sensing?” he asked.
Anakin’s eyes opened wide; he was obviously surprised that his father was asking him anything about the Force. Han was as Forceblind as Anakin was sensitive to it, after all, and rarely had he ever asked for any Force-related insights to any events, usually trusting his own instincts and luck instead.
Anakin closed his eyes for a long while. “Fear,” he said at length.
“Oh, there’s a lot of that,” the old man said. “Why wouldn’t there be?”
“But something else,” Anakin started. He looked hard at his father. “It’s more than fear,” he decided. “Especially with the ones like that.” He pointed to a group of locals rushing past on the opposite side of the avenue, their red-striped white robes flapping behind them in the dusty breeze. “It’s almost …”
“Religious?” the old man asked, again with a wheezing chuckle.
“Yes,” Anakin answered even as Han scowled at the old man. “Spiritual. They’re afraid and full of hope all at once.”
“Tosi-karu,” the old man said, and he started walking away.
“Tosi-karu?” Anakin asked. “That’s what one of the people at the other door yelled.”
“Hey!” Han called, but the old man continued away, chuckling and shaking his head with every step.
“Tosi-karu?” Anakin asked again.
“Some goddess,” Han explained. “There’s something weird going on down here. I don’t know what Lando’s got us into, but I’ve got a—”
“Bad feeling about it?” Anakin finished, managing a sheepish grin at stealing his father’s trademark line.
“Lot to do,” Han corrected. “I want those holds emptied, and us out of here as soon as possible.”
Chewie growled a protest—it was a lot of work, after all.
“We’re going to empty them by ourselves?” Anakin asked doubtfully.
“No,” Han replied with his unrelenting sarcasm. “We’re going to find some help.”
Before Anakin could even finish his sigh, a great cry came rolling down the street, a hundred voices, at least, joined as one. “Tosi-karu!”
“The goddess is here,” Anakin remarked.
“Well, let’s go and see if she’s in charge,” H
an remarked, and he led them down the street. Around the next corner, they found the old man, sitting comfortably on a doorstep, hands crossed over the top of his walking stick.
“We thought we’d go meet the goddess,” Han remarked dryly.
“No need to go any further, then,” the old man replied.
That stopped them in their tracks, and Han eyed the old man suspiciously. “You?” he asked.
In answer, the old man laughed and pointed toward the sky, out to the east, and the three turned to see the moon rising in the still-blue sky.
And what a moon! It seemed huge, as if it was a second planet the size of Sernpidal. Han spent a moment remembering the information he had garnered about the place when schooling Anakin on their flight and descent plan. Sernpidal did have a moon—two of them, in fact. One was substantial, nearly a fifth the size of Sernpidal, but the other was much smaller, perhaps only twenty kilometers or so in diameter.
Han, Anakin, and Chewbacca watched in amazement as the moon broke the horizon, lifting up in the eastern sky, higher and higher, soon to crest overhead.
“Moving pretty fast,” Han remarked.
“Faster every hour,” the old man replied, drawing curious stares from the three.
“Which moon is that?” Anakin asked curiously, and he turned to Han and the old man, his expression fraught with fear. “That’s Dobido, isn’t it?”
“Dobido’s the tiny one,” Han replied.
“Indeed it is Dobido,” the old man said.
Han and Anakin stared hard at each other, the old man’s words—faster every hour—reverberating in their thoughts. Chewie put his hands over his ears and roared.
“Are you saying that Dobido is coming down?” Han asked, echoing Chewie’s words.
“That would be my guess,” the old man replied calmly. “I think the locals’ explanation that Tosi-karu has arrived is a bit more farfetched.”
The three looked up at the moon, now passing its crest above them, speeding for the western horizon.
“How long?” Anakin asked breathlessly.
Han started to attempt some calculations, but without any points of reference, soon gave up that exercise. Another thought interrupted anyway, a more pressing one. “Get back to the Falcon,” he cried, and he sprinted back toward the dock, Anakin and Chewie following quickly.
“It may already be unloaded,” the unflappable old man called after them, ending with a wheezing chuckle edged with profound sadness. Anakin paused and stared at the old man intently.
“I was elected the mayor,” the old man explained with a sigh. “I was supposed to protect them.”
“Hurry up!” Han called back to Anakin, his tone almost desperate.
Indeed, when the three returned to the Millennium Falcon, they found the unloading process well under way. Scores of people of many different species crowded around the ship, most throwing out cargo, but a few opportunistic others taking the time to go through the goods.
“Hey!” Han yelled, rushing the mob and waving his arms frantically.
They ignored him, even when he grabbed a couple of people and pushed them aside.
“Get away from my ship!” he demanded repeatedly, running all about, always seeming to be a step behind, as one or another of the mob broke open a cargo carton and ran off with the contents.
Chewbacca took a more direct route, running to the landing ramp and moving up high, then cutting loose one of his patented thunderous roars. That caught the attention of more than a few, and even those who did not outright flee took care to keep far from the Wookiee.
And Anakin’s method was different still, the boy walking calmly among the looters, “suggesting” to them casually that they would be better off leaving. The inflection of his words, his use of the Force, made him many friends that day, friends who were glad to take his advice.
It took the three more than half an hour to clear the area, and another half an hour, with Anakin and his sensitivities guiding them, to clear the hidden stowaways out of the Falcon.
Han then wasted no time, didn’t even bother to call in to the ground controllers for permission. He put the Falcon up, straight up, a lightning run to orbit, and put in a course to chase the rushing moon.
“There it is,” he said to his son as they came over the horizon, moving to close pursuit. “Ten trillion tons of danger.”
“Torpedoes?” Anakin asked.
Han looked at him incredulously. “That’d be like shooting a bantha with a tickle stick,” he replied. “It’d take a Star Destroyer to blast that moon, and even if it did, the falling pieces would devastate Sernpidal.”
“Then what?” Anakin asked.
“Never seem to have a Death Star lying around when you need one,” Han muttered. He glanced over his shoulder at Chewie, who was busy checking readings and working some calculations.
The Wookiee stared intently at the screen, scratched his hairy head a couple of times, then issued a wail, poking the screen.
“Look at what?” Han protested, swiveling his chair about.
Chewie roared emphatically.
“Seven hours?” Han echoed, stunned. “Let me see that.” He slapped the Wookiee’s hand away, but his scolding ended abruptly as he read the line Chewie had been indicating.
“Our day just got better,” Han said, looking back to Anakin. “Sernpidal’s got seven hours.”
Anakin’s jaw dropped open.
“Only chance is that the moon skips along the atmosphere for a while before crashing through,” Han explained.
Even as the words left his mouth, the ridiculousness of the whole situation struck him profoundly, left him shaking his head. “This moon’s been in orbit for a million years,” he commented. “How is this happening, and why now?” A look of suspicion crossed his face, a look that made clear that he wanted to discuss this further with a certain shady operator who had sent him out here.
“You think Lando knew?” Anakin asked, his tone skeptical.
Han offered no response to that theory, but he did wonder if one of those characters with whom Lando dealt might have something to do with all of this—if one of them, perhaps, wasn’t pleased that Lando was delivering cargo to a rival. But still, who knew how to bring down a moon? The whole notion seemed utterly preposterous.
To Han, who had spent the better part of the last thirty years fighting against, and utilizing, utterly preposterous plans and equipment, nothing seemed impossible.
The scope on the console to Anakin’s side beeped.
“What do you got?” Han asked.
Anakin bent over the scope. “Weather satellite.”
Han looked at the moon, rolling along before them. “Get us to it,” he instructed his son. “Download its banks,” he told Chewie. “Let’s see if we can find any clues, or a pattern.”
A few moments later, Anakin brought them right up beside the weather satellite, an older Thunderstorm 63 model, and Chewie wasted no time in tying the Millennium Falcon’s computers into the satellite’s banks.
Han took the helm back from Anakin and, as soon as Chewie was finished, used some nifty flying to bring the Falcon in close to the moon, even circumnavigating the thing a few times to try and see if there were any added features—a few well-placed ion drives, perhaps. The close inspection offered not a clue, though.
“Keep your eyes open,” he instructed Chewie, as the Wookiee swapped places with Anakin, moving back to his customary seat at Han’s side.
Chewie growled his assent and worked in perfect sync with Han to keep the Falcon moving slowly and deliberately, as close to the moon as possible.
“Seven hours,” Han muttered. “How are we going to get all those people off the planet in seven hours?” Even as he finished the rhetorical question, he put out a general distress call, signaling any and all ships in the region to proceed with all haste to Sernpidal.
That was a call few, if any, would hear in time, he knew.
“You see anything?” he asked Chewie.
The Wookiee growled and shook his head.
“It’s coming from the planet!” Anakin cried behind them, and they both instinctively looked down toward Sernpidal and then, when nothing seemed apparent, glanced back at Anakin.
The boy rushed forward, bearing a printout from Chewie’s download from the weather satellite. “Look,” he said, pointing to a diagram he had generated with the data to show the plotting of Dobido’s last two weeks of movement.
The circles showed the smooth ellipse of the orbit until only a couple of days before, when the moon had taken a sudden dip in trajectory with regard to the planet.
“Look at the descent,” Anakin explained. “Every time it crosses this part of the planet, it comes down steeper. Something’s pulling it down.”
Han and Chewie studied the diagram, and sure enough, they could see that every time Dobido crossed over the region of the planet near Sernpidal City, it did indeed dip.
“Maybe they’re calling it home with their prayers,” Han muttered.
“Something’s doing it,” Anakin replied, too enthused to catch the joke. He poked his finger against the printout. “Something in the exact middle of this arc.” He traced his finger to his estimate of that point, a spot not too far to the east of the city.
Han looked at Chewie, and the Wookiee turned to Anakin, calling for the printouts.
“It’s got to be there,” Anakin said to Chewie as the Wookiee pored over the data.
Chewie looked up at the boy, then at Han, and howled his agreement.
Now they had a clue, and perhaps a solution would follow.
Han laid in a course for that region, the Falcon swooping under Dobido and breaking right back through the atmosphere. He and Chewie studied the region east of the city, looking for some clues, or for a ship, perhaps, like an Interdictor cruiser, known for its gravity-well projectors that could simulate the tremendous effects of a stellar body in hyperspace and prevent fleeing ships from making the jump to lightspeed.
Meanwhile, Anakin studied the movement of Dobido, which was again crossing the area of greatest descent. Sure enough, the moon dipped noticeably in its trajectory, and Anakin updated Chewie’s calculations with the new data.