Journey to Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

by Kevin Shinick

  His gummy fingers counted out food rations and collected offerings with surprising speed. “Three quarter portions,” he said as he plopped the rations on the counter in exchange for the scavenger’s finds. The creature scowled, but took it. Karr didn’t know anything about this planet’s currency, but even he felt that was a small amount to get for what the scavenger had just hauled across the desert.

  Karr approached the window, and the Crolute opened his hand. “What have you got?” he asked, barely looking at Karr. Then his tiny, deep-set eyes narrowed even further. “Hey, I don’t know you. This is my concession stand, not my charity drive. Get out, all three of you. Unless you have something to sell, I have nothing to give.”

  “We have credits,” Maize said. “We’re here to buy, not sell.”

  It might’ve been her confidence, or her clothes, or Plutt assuming that the upper class were usually easy marks, but the Crolute begrudgingly gave her his attention. Karr didn’t know why the merchant chose to believe her, and he didn’t care. He was just happy he had stopped yelling at them.

  “Yes, sir,” Karr added. “We’re looking for Jedi artifacts, specifically. Possibly even from the end of the Galactic Civil War,” he said, his voice going up at the end, hoping the blobfish would understand his meaning and reveal what he knew. But when he didn’t, Karr added, “We were told that if we wanted to find quality merchandise anywhere in this corner of the galaxy, you were the fellow to see.”

  Unkar folded his sausage arms across a hanging breastplate that clanked when he moved. “The Jedi have been dead since the Clone Wars,” he said as a matter of fact, but then teased, “I might be in possession of some of their wares, however.” Karr was thrown by the Clone Wars comment since he had hoped to hear more about the Jedi Skywalker pulling ships from the sky, but he was happy they had access nonetheless. “But if you’re lying about your financial situation,” the merchant growled, “I’ll make up for it by sellin’ your hides.” Then he barked something to the rest of the line in a language Karr didn’t recognize.

  When he looked at Maize to see if she knew, she only shrugged at him.

  But all the other scavengers wandered away as they’d apparently been commanded, and Unkar Plutt reached up to pull down a metal screen that closed the vending window. “Get over here,” he told them. “Come around back, and you can look through my serious merchandise. I have two or three things in mind that I think you’ll like, yes. Items beloved by the Jedi, carried by Jedi. Even used by Jedi during the Clone Wars, if the stories are true!”

  Maize made eye contact with Karr, showing him a little eye roll that said she didn’t believe Plutt for a minute, but she played along regardless.

  Around the side of the concession stand there was a door. Their host opened it and waved them all inside, chattering as they joined him in the dark, stuffy space. “Most of what’s here on Jakku comes from the battle between the New Republic and the Empire. I had no great love for either side myself, but I owe them something, I guess. They left so much carnage in their wake. Such vast machines of war, wrecked and abandoned as if they’re worth nothing. Well. They’re worth a great deal, if one knows how to sell them in pieces and scraps.”

  RZ-7 led the way with flattery. “You clearly run a thriving establishment. You must be a tremendous businessman.” The Crolute stared at RZ-7 as if he had just noticed him. He looked him up and down, then said, “How much you want for the droid?”

  RZ-7 gasped.

  “He’s got some interesting hardware. For a medical droid,” Plutt said pointedly, with what seemed like a knowing glance.

  “Uh, no,” Karr stammered. “He’s not for sale.”

  “Bah!” The blobfish stormed ahead, his body swaying from left to right.

  Plutt showed them to a round stockroom that was full of shelves and ladders, with lights hanging from cords to illuminate the lists, charts, and inventory forms that hung on the walls.

  Karr made appreciative mumbles, and Maize did the same. Then she said, “You must send a lot of your stock off-planet, don’t you? You can’t possibly keep it all here.”

  “No, I don’t. But I am more than a merchant—I am a collector. Sometimes I collect for myself, and sometimes I hang on to special pieces I think might find a home with someone wealthy down the line. And some of the things I take from others in trade, I keep here. Things from before the Empire. Items that are precious only to the very few.”

  He flashed them a sly-eyed look, the kind that communicated almost out loud that he thought he’d found just the right suckers with just the right purses.

  Maize didn’t see it, but Karr did. He knew that look. It usually came from clients who were about to ask for a discount or complain that the price for their new suits had been inflated or whine that they would need to defer payment, just this once. It was the look of a man who didn’t merely love money—but would cheat to get it, or to keep it.

  As quickly as Karr had seen the look, it disappeared when the big, soft fellow turned his back and began to search his rows of stock. Some of the shelves had labels, and some did not. Some had notes slapped on them that declared a piece reserved, or already sold and waiting for pickup. Unkar Plutt skipped those and reached to a second shelf—climbing up on a footstool and then a ladder until he could pull down just the right object for his audience.

  “Here it is. The thing I wanted to show you.”

  When he stepped down again, he was holding a ship’s throttle controls—just the lever and its casing, all its wires capped off and tucked into a housing block it sat on like a presentation stand.

  “What’s that?” Maize asked, eyes wide.

  “It came from one of the Republic ships—a small flier that crashed somewhere after a conflict with the Separatists. Probably flown by a Jedi. When someone from off-world brought me this to trade, I knew it was special. Didn’t even realize what he had, the fool.”

  “Can we touch it?” Maize was the one who asked this time.

  Karr did not. His fingers didn’t want it. Nothing about the throttle lever struck him as passingly important in any sense. It took all his energy to hide his disappointment.

  The merchant handed it to her with something like reverence, or perhaps fear—like it might explode if it was handled too carelessly.

  Maize turned it over in her hands, poking at the buttons on the left-hand side of the lever and gently tweaking the caps on the wires. “This is actually pretty cool,” she told him. “Do you know who the ship belonged to?”

  “I told you, it was a Jedi pilot,” he said, but something about his tone of disinterest said that he might not be telling the whole truth. Or any of it. “There were a handful of them, at least. More than that, perhaps—who can say? But the price is not a trick or a joke. I know what it is worth, and I will accept no less.”

  “Of course not. We would not dream of haggling,” said RZ-7, before remembering he probably shouldn’t be calling attention to himself.

  “Speak for yourself,” Karr told him.

  Plutt harrumphed. His arm flab jiggled, and his breastplate rattled. “No negotiations! My stock is rare and priced accordingly. You can either afford it or you can’t. Don’t waste my time!”

  Only then did Maize notice that Karr hadn’t yet tried to touch the throttle casing. “Karr, don’t you…don’t you want to take a look?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure. Give it here.”

  He slipped off a glove, took the object in his hands and pretended to get thoughtful. He turned the item over, looking at it from every angle. From the corner of his eye, Karr could see Plutt scrutinizing him as much as he was scrutinizing the throttle. Suddenly, a low electronic chirp caught everyone’s attention. Both Karr and Maize looked to RZ-7, but the droid didn’t seem to be the source. Unkar Plutt gave a grunt of dissatisfaction and pulled a handheld communicator from his belt. He held it up to his mouth and said, “Hold on,” before turning to the kids and grumbling, “Don’t go anywhere!”

  He turned toward
a door that was partly hidden behind a tall metal ladder on wheels. He pushed the ladder aside and opened the door to reveal a small office, barely any larger than the cockpit of the Avadora. He wedged himself inside, leaving the door open a crack so he could keep an eye on his guests as he conducted whatever shady business he was involved in.

  Maize whispered to Karr, “You must really be getting good at this. You didn’t even flinch when you touched it!”

  “That’s because there’s nothing here.”

  She frowned. “Nothing? Not a tingle? Not a twitch?”

  “Nothing. It didn’t witness any important events. I doubt it was even used by the Republic. Actually, nothing in this storeroom looks like anything that would help us. Let’s go back to the junkyard. I want to look around there, instead.”

  “What do you expect to find?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He cocked his thumb and pointed in the direction he meant. “I’ve got a feeling, though. Let’s go see. Everything in here is just…”

  Unkar Plutt emerged from the tiny office. “Just what?”

  “Just…out of my price range,” Karr tried.

  “Then make me an offer.”

  But all Karr wanted to do was leave. “It’s okay. We’re good. It’s just not what I was looking for.”

  “Don’t insult me, boy! I’m losing money talking to you. I shut my stand to show you that throttle because I thought you were a serious collector.”

  “Look,” Maize interrupted. “If my friend says this isn’t what he’s looking for, it isn’t what he’s looking for. Don’t take it personal. It’s not an insult. We’re just looking for some very specific items.”

  Karr said, “Yeah, and this isn’t one of them. But we’d still like to look around the outpost, if that’s all right with you, sir.”

  “Bah!” Plutt threw his arms up and tossed the datapad onto a nearby shelf. “If you don’t like what I’m offering, then you’re not welcome to any of it. Get out of here. I have scavengers to feed, and if you’re bringing me nothing and buying nothing…you’re no use to me.”

  Before he could get any more insistent, Karr, Maize, and RZ-7 darted outside into the punishing desert sun. The door slammed behind them.

  “Perfect,” Maize muttered.

  But RZ-7 disagreed. “On the bright side, miss…Mr. Plutt has now secured himself indoors, and we’re interested in what he keeps outdoors.” He popped his head toward the open junk lot.

  “Let’s go see what we can find,” Karr said. “But let’s stay off his radar, if we can. Let’s split up while we’re looking. If anybody finds anything interesting…whistle or something.”

  The droid was on board. “Very good, sir. How about this?” He then emitted a high-pitch whistle that caused everyone in the area to look and even a few animals to stagger in pain.

  Karr lowered his hands from his ears. “I’d suggest about a thousand decibels lower, but you’ve got the right idea.”

  With that, Karr pulled his scarf up over his head to protect it from the sun and also to cover his face—as if Plutt wouldn’t know him if he saw him sneaking about beneath the tarps. It made him feel like a spy on a mission. Was that what this was? Well, it was fun to pretend, and he needed to stay out of the Crolute’s line of sight.

  With his hands clasped together, Karr playfully raised his index fingers to form the image of a blaster. He dramatically checked left, glanced right, and when no one seemed to be looking his way, he made a mad dash for the nearest tarp, pretending to evade enemy blasts along the way. When he was safely protected by the flaps of the first ship, he looked up to see the undercarriage of a quadjumper, its hull cracked, its heat-shielding tiles popping loose and falling to the sand.

  Karr pulled off one glove and raised his hand to touch the ship, but he felt absolutely nothing except for warm metal and peeling paint.

  Onward to the next one.

  Somersaulting in the sand to the imaginary sound of ship’s fire, Karr weaved and dodged his way to the second tarp, when he suddenly heard a whistle. He excitedly scanned the horizon only to find a baffled Maize staring at him and gesturing as if to say, What the hell are you doing? Karr just grinned as he ran off to the next tarp, but it was only the shell of a Taylander shuttle. It’d been totally gutted inside, and no one would’ve ever mistaken it for an interstellar ship, much less one that had once been piloted by a Jedi. Time for the next one.

  “Third try threads the needle,” he whispered encouragingly to himself. He still saw no sign of Unkar Plutt at the head of the line of scavengers that had reformed over at the concession stand, so he took a deep breath and sprinted to the farthest tarp covering the largest craft. As he picked up speed he realized how good it felt to exercise his legs after being in the close quarters of the Avadora. Reaching his destination, he congratulated himself on avoiding the dozens of spies he imagined were after him and rested his hand on the nearest surface to catch his breath. But instead of calming down, his breath quickened. Even through his glove he could tell this was something worth checking out. He slowly raised his eyes to glance at the treasure before him: a Corellian freighter.

  By the time he caught his breath, he knew he’d hit the jackpot. He couldn’t explain how he knew, but he did. This ship was special.

  From underneath the tarp and the craft’s body, it was hard to see much more than a vaguely circular shape with two points sticking out at one end—but he found the hatch and worked it open. It dropped with a hum and a grind, and when Karr stepped onto the ramp, he felt ready to jump out of his own skin.

  He jammed his right hand back into his glove and tried not to touch anything.

  He turned back to where RZ-7 and Maize were crouched, back beside the Hutt-made gate that marked the entrance to Niima Outpost, and whistled. Come on, he mouthed when he caught their attention, gesturing with both hands that they should join him.

  When the coast was clear, they did. They ran up beneath the tarp, ducked under the ship, and hopped onto the ramp—where Karr was waiting.

  “Are you okay, sir?” asked the droid in a soft digital voice.

  “I’m great. Look at this ship, Arzee!”

  Maize was less than impressed. “This isn’t a ship. It’s a wreck.”

  “True,” Karr agreed. “But the prize is somewhere inside.”

  Karr led the way into the belly of the ship. It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected, and he tried very hard to keep from feeling disappointed. The interior was grimy but mostly intact, and it looked exactly like the kind of small, slapdash craft that had been popular a generation before…but these days, it probably couldn’t hop between two planets in the same system without blowing a circuit. Not without a lot of help.

  It wasn’t the rust, because there wasn’t much. It wasn’t the dated equipment or the exposed panels or the strange stains. It wasn’t even the stale, warm smell of something dark and dry and abandoned.

  Or maybe it was. Maybe it was all that, and then some—a once proud craft, left to rot under a canvas sheet in a nowhere outpost on a desert planet. Nobody cared about any of it anymore.

  “It’s my prognosis that it’s…an unfortunate craft, in an unfortunate state—if we’re being honest, sir,” RZ-7 said.

  But Karr was too wound up to wind down. “Maybe, but can’t you feel it?”

  “Feel what?” Maize asked, exasperated.

  “I can’t describe it. It’s something in the air. No, in the ship itself. Think of all the things it must have witnessed! It’s like…it’s like it wants to tell me all about it.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Arzee said, “Sir, it’s quite dark in here. Let me see if I can turn on the lights.”

  Karr said, “Careful, though. And quiet. Don’t do anything that’ll catch anyone’s attention.”

  Maize wasn’t worried. “We’d need fireworks to get anyone’s attention around here. Don’t get too worked up about it.”

  Karr ran his gloved hands across every cen
timeter of the place. “I wonder where it’s been, and what it’s carried. I wonder who its pilot was. Maybe it’ll tell me.” He began slipping one hand out of its glove.

  Maize shook her head. “It looks like an old spice freighter to me. Arzee, can you find any evidence of what this thing used to carry?”

  The droid was silent for a few seconds. “I will look, madam. Although with so many cargo holds, one would imagine it could smuggle just about anything.”

  “That’s not helpful, Arzee,” she scoffed. “Although he does bring up a good point, Karr. Maybe whatever you’re looking for is hidden away in here somewhere, in a secret compartment or something. Otherwise, why wouldn’t scavengers have picked this ship clean? Unless it’s so old that nobody wants it—not even for parts,” she said, answering her own question.

  “It’s probably still here because of the Force.” Karr bounced happily from place to place. “My grandmother used to say that the Jedi were good at blending in and looking unthreatening, just like this ship. It looks useless and old, but we found it here, intact, because Unkar Plutt couldn’t convince anybody to buy it. Even in bits and pieces. That was the Force at work.”

  “You sure about that?” she asked.

  Karr stopped his exploring. “Do you really think that guy wouldn’t have sold this thing—whole or in parts—for two credits and a glass of sow milk?”

  Maize thought about it, her head bobbing from left to right as she pondered the possibilities. “You have a point.”

  “I always do!”

  “You sometimes do,” she said, but he was already gone again.

  Karr went deeper into the ship, opening cabinets and sticking his face under consoles. He ran his fingers along empty shelves and tried every lever, every button, and every switch. But nothing turned on, no lights lit up, and nothing happened.

  Maize caught up to him somewhere around the central sitting area, where he was lifting cushions off a bench seat and kicking anything that looked like it might open if he tried. “What are you looking for?”