By I. J. Thompson

Illustrated by Amanda Price and Dave Myatt

The Galactic Empire’s fearsome Death Star has been destroyed, rekindling the flames of hope in a galaxy torn by war. The Alliance grows, while the Empire regroups, awaiting the opportunity to strike again.

Meanwhile, far from the heart of civil war, on the planet Lanthrym in distant Elrood Sector, a young alien is about to learn that destiny is something that can neither be predicted nor escaped…

Chapter 1

It was a forbidding world. Covered from pole to pole in wind-blasted ice and driving snow, the bleak, frozen surface of Lanthrym stretched on infinitely, featureless but for the occasional string of hard, white mountains. No building stood here, the surface shunned by all but the most hardy of lifeforms.

One of those lifeforms stirred beneath the giant snowdrift under which it lay, stretching out its unknowable form, giving the mighty drift the look of a large hill coming to life. A shape broke the surface, a silvery, wicked pincer claw the length of a tall man. It reached around blindly; seeking out the source of the howling noise that had attracted it. No creature stirred on the surface, however, and the shapeless, hungry beast moved again, determined to find and kill whatever had disturbed it from its slumber.

The vicious howling sound coalesced into the form of a space transport, large and blue, screaming in low over the snowy hills, fighting to stay aloft in the pounding, freezing wind. The wicked claw pulled itself back under the snow, outmatched. Wind and driving flecks sculpted its hiding place, leaving only an ordinary snowdrift and covering any trace of the creature.

The transport continued on, toward a stand of beacon lights that were beginning to appear feebly through the endless whites and grays. Thrusters screaming, the vessel hovered over the circle of lights, half of them broken, struggling madly to keep from being pulled away by the relentless wind. Inside the ring of lights, ten sturdy metal tubes, arranged in a slightly smaller circle, shot up through the piled snow. The tubes then bent their tops in toward one another, like some strange, petal-less arctic flowers, finally coming to rest pointing at the ground between them. With a thundering blast of forced air, the tubes stirred the patch of snow, sending a great white cloud into the air. The blue transport waited above, while the air tubes gradually cleared away what was ultimately revealed to be a large metal disk, fifty meters across. Temporarily cleared of snow, the disk split in two, revealing a long, descending tunnel beneath. As the ten air tubes sank back under the snow, their task fulfilled, the battered blue transport descended into the tunnel, swallowed up by the disk overhead.

Without the howling wind it was quieter here, even with the moaning of the transport’s overworked engines. The vessel lowered itself down the blackened, grimy shaft, accompanied in its journey by rivers of melted snow from the entrance above, running down the walls. The craft descended, finally slowing down as it approached a group of large, slotted openings, arranged one atop the other on one side of the shaft. Lines of dancing light led the way to one of these slots, into which the big blue ship eased itself carefully. Settling itself onto the wet, grimy hangar floor, the vessel sat for a time, as its owner shut down its systems.

Short minutes later, a squat, ugly being got out, and strode purposefully toward the hangar official that awaited him in the chamber’s large doorway. The official greeted the alien gruffly, and held out a hand. The alien, bristling, snorted out a retort in its crude language, and made to sidestep the official. This prompted the official to poke the alien’s ribcage with his heavy blaster, causing the alien to stop in its tracks. Reaching into a pocket, the alien retrieved a handful of shining coins, and stuffed them into the official’s greedy palm. Snorting another angry curse, he turned his back on the smiling man, and strode away toward the large cargo doors, which parted before him.

The sprawling, subterranean metropolis of Capital City stretched out for miles. Dark, monolithic buildings stood, staring somberly down at the teeming thousands at their feet. It was ‘sunset’ in the cavernous city, as described by the simulated waning daylight projected down by millions of coloured spotlights attached to the urban centre’s ceiling. A great number of these lights had burned out, or been shot out, leaving some areas of the city illuminated by odd combinations of colours, and some other unfortunate areas completely dark.

An airspeeder flew by, coughing and spitting its way through the choking pollution that hung over the town like a vaporous sickness. As it headed toward the centre of the dirty town, it, and the rest of Capital City’s citizens, were addressed by a deep, booming voice that thundered out over the enclosed landscape.

"Attention, citizens," the lifeless, alien voice intoned, "the Environmental Authority reminds you that today is a Rainday. Help to keep our city clean. Remember - there is a career for you in Waste Management! Rainfall will continue until 21:30 hours, and will commence in fifteen seconds. Thank you."

As the airspeeder glided down toward one of the parking balconies on the city’s mezzanine level, a rush of water from overhead assaulted it. Giant sprinklers were hissing to life over the entire length of the city, raining melted snow from the surface down onto the populace. The sprinklers worked about as well as the simulated daylight, leaving some areas unwashed, and bone dry. Such was not the case for the luckless speeder driver, whose vehicle was being beaten down by a river of water from a broken pipe somewhere above. Wrenching the covered speeder madly, he was able to narrowly avoid crashing down to the streets below, and landed roughly in a great puddle of muddy water on the balcony.

The speeder pilot wrenched open his vehicle’s canopy, cursing loudly and gathering the attention of a ragged crowd of beings who hung around the area. As they stared blankly, the pilot, still swearing, pulled himself out of the speeder’s cockpit, slipped, and fell face down in the ever-growing puddle of filth. Amid the wicked laughter of all assembled, he pulled himself up, stewing in silence as he wiped the muddy water from his eyes. By now the puddle had grown to twice the size, forming into a waterfall on the edge of the balcony, raining a thick stream of brown water and garbage onto the street far below.

Shaking the dirty water out of his hair, the pilot straightened his clothing and stalked toward a building nearby. The building had a sign over its doorway, flashing neon light depicting a reptilian alien of unspecified race, head tipped back, jaws open wide. Above the alien, a neon stein endlessly tipped itself over, spilling neon liquid into the mouth of the grinning, thirsty beast. Above this, neon letters spelled out the name of the place: Lockjaw’s. Still wiping mud from his jacket, the pilot pushed past the vagrants hanging around the doorway, and went inside.

It was a rough place. Stuffed to capacity with all manner of fearsome individuals, Lockjaw's was a scary place to be at any time of day, much less thirty minutes after the shutdown whistle that marked the end of a week's work. Every being in the room was drinking, making sure to be good and loaded when the fighting started. Already, arguments were breaking out around the bar, continued from the fighting a week before.

A band stood upon the stage, a sad-looking banner hanging behind them announcing them as the Rusted Couplings. They weren't playing at the moment, as their singer was currently taking a 'request'. The requester, a brutish, unspeakably ugly human in battle armour, had the singer by the collar and was growling instructions into his frightened face.

"W-we're from out of sector," the singer stammered, "we don't know 'Stairway to Halbara'!" Pulled closer into the villain's ugly face, the Rusted Coupling recoiled in terror and asked as politely as he could manage, "Perhaps you could hum a couple of bars?"

The fearsome being pushed the musician backward, and scanned the room for someone more worthy to challenge. As the Rusted Couplings kicked into another tune, he stalked across the meager dance floor (which was largely empty, but for three Gamorreans taking turns running headlong at each other, cracking their heads loudly), grabbed a drink off someone else's table and, as luck would have it, sat his lumpy, misshapen form down at the table of Mirren Anjivar Resh.

Resh sighed, and recoiled imperceptibly as the man's mood assaulted his senses. He could read his mood just as clearly as he could see the colour of the brute's dark, greasy hair, for he was a Gotal. His species, recognizable by two dull, curving horns atop their heads, had a sensitivity to the emotions of others, and this ugly human's emotions were very clear - he wanted a fight, and would not rest until he had one.

"Deal me in," the man ordered him, referring to the bag of stones the Gotal held in his hands. 'Stones' was a strategy game that had found its way to the Elrood Sector from some other world, where the planet and its indigenous species were believed to have an unusual, 'spiritually symbiotic' relationship. These stones would change colour according to the mood of the gambler who held them, their colour indicating their value in the game. One had to be a very cool customer to play a game of Stones, and one would have to be crazy to play Stones with a Gotal. Next to Resh's regular job as a spaceport sensor operator, this was the young alien's chief source of income. Truly, he would rather have been playing at the high-stakes Sabacc tables around the city, but his sensory horns gave him no advantage in that particular game - the electrical field generated by the Sabacc table hurt his head.

So, he had to settle for what little he could make off those foolish enough to play Stones with a Gotal. Luckily Badram, a friend from work, had never been told about the species' mood-reading abilities, and usually accompanied Resh to this very place when the working week was through. Resh currently held eighty-one of the young man's credits, and was just about ready to ease up and go back to working on the table's other occupant when the brute came along.

He studied the ugly, angry man closely while he handed over the stones, which turned a dark crimson as soon as they came near him. Badram's, on the other hand, were a marbly purple, belying his frustration at having lost a good-sized portion of the week's pay. Resh turned to the other player, a hulking, black-cloaked shape whose face was completely concealed behind a fearsome, impenetrable breath mask. The shape reached out a giant, gloved hand, tossing a few coins into the pot. The stones on the table before it were a placid yellow, indicating a player who was only marginally interested in the game. This struck Resh as odd, as he'd already taken two hundred five credits away from the mysterious being.

"New player moves first," Resh said absently, watching the brute arrange his stones in what he must have thought was a strategic pattern. The Gotal's pieces were a serene, sky blue, and Resh took the opportunity, using them to 'capture' two of the brute's angry red ones. It was a charitable move, as Resh could have taken five of the man's pieces, if he'd wanted to. The yellow stones belonging to the mysterious cloaked alien began to turn a curious green; it seemed to Resh that this being was aware the Gotal was taking it easy, and wondered why.

Badram, on the other hand, was scarcely aware of the stones he was moving around the table, chatting loudly and constantly as he always did whenever he got nervous. "I had to program in a new alert, today," he said to his Gotal colleague, trying to ignore the offensive odours coming from the table's newest occupant. "A Ghtroc 720 called the Treespirit. I don't know who wants it, but as soon as the sensor sweeps pick up that transponder, blammo! I'll bag myself a tidy bonus!"

Resh captured three of the man's stones, smiled at him. "If this Treespirit just so happens to come flying along on your shift! Who knows? Maybe I'll be reaping the reward for all your painstaking labour!" Their laughter was cut short by the ugly man's fist pounding on the table. He rose, and fixed his gruesome visage centimeters from Badram's nose. "Treespirit's days is numbered!" he slurred, breathing hot foulness into the younger man's face. Turning, he hoisted his mug into the air, and addressed everyone in the room. "Dorok Zalaster's gang's gonna crush Treespirit, and any other varmint stupid enough to get in our way!"

The three Gamorreans on the dance floor raised their fists, and squealed their happy agreement. A number of other patrons around the bar were raising their fists as well, and shouting loudly. It occurred to Resh only now that each of these being’s clothing was adorned with a piece of tattered, black and orange striped cloth. Great, he mused to himself, I'm sharing this bar with about twenty pirates, and the drunkest one of all is sitting at my table. Looking down at his stones, he found them to be turning a nervous orange. Badram and the cloaked shape's stones were turning similar shades, and Resh sighed. One more win and I'm out of here...

Badram was way ahead of him. "Well," he said, rising, "'never lose more than half your pay in one day', that's my motto! Have a good couple days, pal" He nodded to his Gotal friend, hurriedly throwing on his jacket, and was out the door in a flash. Resh stared after him, thinking about leaving himself, when he was interrupted by the rude prodding of the hostile pirate; "Play!"

He looked down at the table. Here was a perfect setup for Stones. Now that Badram had gone, the way had been left open for Resh's stones to capture every one of the pirate's. In addition to this, their angry crimson had been joined by black spots, raising their value another five credits each. He thought for a moment about passing up the opportunity, but his pride wouldn't let him. Lifting his stones one by one, he jumped them over each of the pirate's, enjoying the clack-clack sound of the little rocks hitting the table. "You owe me a hundred ninety credits."

The pirate sat in slack-jawed confusion, looking down at his stones. Then, as the realization of his substantial loss began to dawn on him, he lifted his drunken head to look at the Gotal, who smiled back in satisfaction. A sound began to emanate from the gruesome thug, a deep, slobbery growl that was steadily climbing in volume. The growl grew into a mighty yell, as the pirate erupted into a flying drunken rage, knobby hands reaching out for Resh's neck. The Gotal dove under the table, wrapping both his arms around the single column that supported it. Hugging the table's base tightly, he threw himself up and forward, ramming the table into the pirate's midsection, and scattering coins, drinks and stones around the room. The surprised pirate fell onto his back, as the room erupted into chaos.

Lying prone atop the upended table, pirate struggling beneath him, Resh raised his head and saw that practically everyone in Lockjaw's had decided to join in the excitement, a domino effect sweeping everyone into combat with the being next to him. From out of the fray, five shapes stalked toward him, each wearing the black and orange insignia of Dorok Zalaster's gang. Before he could even rise to get away, the young Gotal was being lifted by the back of the collar, and swung around to face another of Zalaster's cronies.

"Tha wuff my mate you clobb'rin'," The new arrival spoke, "Oim gonna buss yer 'ead!"

Resh flinched, defenseless, hoping the thug would at least release his collar when he clocked him, when a huge, black-gloved fist suddenly rammed itself into the side of his attacker's head. The villain went down, and Resh was surprised to see that the cloaked shape, face unseeable behind the breath mask, was pulling him out of the line of danger, and raising a fearsome looking blaster toward the advancing bullies. The pirates stopped short, drawing blasters of their own, as the shape grabbed him and started dragging him toward the side entrance of the bar. Dodging fighting patrons all the way, the pair threw themselves at the fire exit, the hinged door flying open under the impact.

They emerged onto a crowded side street, pushing their way through the gathering and keeping their heads ducked down. Turning into a darkened alley, the pair kept running until they'd lost count of just how many corners they'd turned. Panting heavily, they settled down to get a bearing on their situation.

"Thanks for your help back there, friend," Resh said breathlessly to the mysterious figure. The shape stood staring at him behind the mask, silent. After a glance back down the alley, he turned back toward his strange companion. "Look, would you mind taking that thing off? No offence, but I'm the kind of guy likes to know who he owes his favours to."

By way of reply, the shape unhooked the helmet from its shoulders, revealing a large, furry brown head. The hairy being hooted a friendly greeting toward him. It’s a Wookiee, Resh realized, female, by the tone of voice. He relaxed, sensing the Wookiee was in good spirits.

"Well," he continued, "I was planning on treating myself to a fancy dinner after that game, but all my winnings are on the floor, back there." Shrugging, he looked over at his new ally.

"I don't know... you wanna come over?"

Chapter 2

"Freeze!"

The antiquated XL-500 robot hurled itself out into the hallway, tumbling onto its side noisily. It lay there, pointing its broken miniblaster around blindly while its locomotor treads whirred uselessly in the air.

"Hi, Excel," Resh said absently, stepping over the obsolete mechanical. "How’s things?"

"Freeze!" the droid said again, centuries of service and repair having eroded its vocabulary down to one word. The hovel apartment was dark, and Resh felt his way along a wall to the lighting controls, followed closely by the Wookiee woman. When the lights came on, the young Gotal cried out in surprise.

The hovel had been ransacked. Every humble piece of furniture slashed, every cupboard hanging open, their contents strewn about the floor. The Gotal looked around in alarm. Apart from himself, the apartment was home to one other occupant, and it was he that Resh called out for now.

"Uncle Gren!" He called, charging into the side rooms. No reply was forthcoming, and a cursory inspection revealed that these rooms had been overturned, as well. Resh’s adopted Uncle Gren Vost, a human, was absent, though it could not be discerned if he had left of his own accord, or been taken away.

He joined the Wookiee back in the front room, she howling at him questioningly.

"I don’t know," he replied, "this doesn’t look like the work of criminals… nothing’s taken." Springing into action, he began furiously digging through the mess. "Gren wouldn’t just disappear like this. There’s got to be a clue here, and I’m gonna find it!" The Wookiee joined in obligingly, and the pair set to work searching the room.

After several minutes of work, however, their search still revealed nothing. Sitting on a sliced cushion, Resh rested his head in his hands for a moment, looking around the room. There will be something, he told himself, There must be something! Realizing he was working himself into a fury, he calmed himself with a deep-breathing technique that his uncle had taught him, and tried to settle his thoughts and let the answers come to him. Resting his focus on an old style water kettle that lay on the ground in front of him, he stretched his senses outward, and told himself to be open to this puzzle’s solution, just as funny old uncle Gren would have. He smiled, thinking about the old eccentric, and was overcome with a feeling of calm, and a certainty that could not be denied.

Leaning forward, he picked up the kettle from the floor, and opened the spout covering. Reaching inside, he pulled out a rolled up slip of ancient writing paper, which Gren was fond of using. Unrolling the slip, he was rewarded with a message inside:

Resh sighed, secreting the message away in a pocket. It seemed uncle Gren had been pretty timely in his departure. Deadsville, he thought to himself, of all the places to have to go. The region now known as Deadsville lay a few miles from Capital City, resting underground like a hidden shame. Long ago, when this planet of Lanthrym had competed with the neighboring planet Coyn for the coveted honour of being the 'Gateway to Elrood Sector', the planet's administrators had seen fit to construct an entire tourist town to attract the millions of visitors they expected to receive, calling it 'Vacationville'. When the esteemed title was eventually bestowed upon the world of the Coynites, Lanthrym and its people were outraged, offended and, most importantly, riddled with debt. One by one, the honest and ambitious city leaders left for other worlds, leaving a vacancy soon to be filled by an assortment of unscrupulous, self-serving opportunists and gangsters. The standard of living fell dramatically, mirrored by the rise of crime in Capital City. 'Vacationville', with all its untried stores, hotels and amusements was mothballed, and came to be known as 'Deadsville', a bitter joke among the work crews who had laboured so long to build it. And so it remained, a dark, abandoned ghost town lying like a hidden tomb under Lanthrym's hard, cold surface.

Resh turned to his Wookiee companion. "Gren's in over his head," he announced, "I don't know who turned this apartment upside down, but word on the street has it that Zalaster and his gang have moved into Deadsville, which is probably worse." He sprang to his feet, heading for the door.

"I have to get over there. Thank you for all your help, but this could be dangerous. You might as well take off." The furry giant simply stood staring at him, then hoisted her bowcaster and followed him to the door.

Resh smiled. "Well, if you insist. To tell the truth, I'm relieved you'll be tagging along!" He paused in the doorway, dragging the little XL-500 droid back into the apartment with one foot. After a careful glance out the door, the pair stepped into the hallway while Resh moved to close the door behind them.

"Goodbye, Excel," he called. The little droid, still lying on its side, spun his head around drunkenly and banged his broken blaster against the wall twice.

"Freeze!" he replied.

"Are you two going on a wampa hunt, or are you just crazy?" 'Rocket' Ren Duggas asked them as he led the way from his front office back into the garage of Capital City's most respected vehicle-hiring outlet, Rocket Rental.

"Neither," Resh replied, following along behind. "This is strictly a recreational ride. We've been cooped up down here too long."

"Well, I hear it's a stormy night up there, so you won't get to do much sightseeing," Duggas replied, "But I'm pretty sure I can rent you an enjoyable ride."

They emerged into the cavernous garage, where a handful of technicians paused in their work, noting the new arrivals. The chamber was filled with an impressive variety of vehicles, bordered on one long wall by a series of bay doors, allowing the airspeeders access to the 'sky' traffic lanes of the covered city. Rocket Ren Duggas passed all these vehicles without so much as a glance, Resh and the Wookiee hurrying to keep up with him. "Airspeeder won't do you much good, topside," he explained. "Don't let no one tell you any different. Sure, they might fly for a while, but when they give out in the cold, that's it. And then you pray you're within walking distance of a passage back down."

Instead, he stopped in front of a row of large, bizarre looking vehicles. They were walkers, eight legged and insectile in shape. They appeared to be controlled from inside the mechanical arachnid's oversize 'head', where two cockpit chairs could be seen through the windows. All of the machine's eight legs connected to a central body segment, where the walker's drives seemed to be placed. Behind this was another segment, a smooth 'abdomen', whose function was not clear.

"Snowhopper's the way to get around up there," Ren told them. "FT-PT: 'frozen terrain personal transport'. She's good for temperatures worse than here, long as she's good and warm when you take her out. And," he added, "If you can flip her over, I'll give you your money back!" Resh looked at the vehicle, noting its impressive ten-meter leg span, broad, disc-shaped 'feet', and low centre of gravity. Clearly, these Snowhoppers were not prone to flipping over. Climbing the ladder into the cockpit, he busied himself getting acquainted with the controls.

"Now, I won't lie to ya," Duggas continued, "in theory, they're easy to drive. Point which way you wanna go with the stick, right here," he explained, leaning in the side of the cockpit beside the Gotal, "and do your jumpin' with this big red button, here. How far you push or pull that stick dictates how much force you're jumpin' with. She'll go forward, back, or even sideways, but I'd take it easy on those sideways jumps... a slow turn's always better. Anyway, it sounds simple, but it really takes a lot of getting used to. I'd recommend you spend some time practicing topside before you go gallivanting off someplace."

"Yeah," Resh said distractedly, strapping in. "What do I owe you?"

"Seventy-five credits," the man replied, wiping his forehead with the back of one arm. Resh dug in his pockets, while his silent Wookiee friend climbed in the other side of the cockpit. "Oh," Duggas continued, "you've got a cockpit mounted blaster above you, in case you meet some nasty wildlife out there, and that's a cargo pod on the back, with two lights and a portable life form scanner inside... good stuff to have if you decide to go out walkin' around."

"Thank you," Resh said, handing over the coins. "But don't you want some kind of deposit on this thing? What happens if I don't come back?"

Ren Duggas laughed. "If you don't come back," he chuckled, closing the cockpit cover over them with a hiss of hydraulics, "it'll mean you died up there!"

With a gulp, Resh set to work powering up the vehicle, while the Wookiee woman beside him activated the heating controls and familiarized herself with the blaster cannon. A large bay door opened at the end of the garage, on the wall adjacent to the hangar doors that the in-town airspeeders used. Inside was a large vehicle lift, which would bring the snowhopper to the surface. Resh pointed the control stick toward the door, and tapped the jump button gingerly. The vehicle leaped into the air, throwing the pair back in their seats, and dropped to the ground, the impact cushioned by the snowhopper's eight tough legs.

"Hey!" 'Rocket' Ren called to them, "Remember: easy! I don't wanna see you run into the walls in here!" Resh sheepishly waved back at him, taking the next jump a little easier. This one was kinder to the vehicle, and to its occupant’s stomachs, as well. Feeling a little more confidant, the Gotal continued jumping the vehicle onto the lift.

The lift's doors closed behind them, and then they were being raised up the grimy shaft to the planet's frozen surface. After a few minutes they came to the shaft's covering, which split in two, exposing their vehicle to the bitter wind and driving snow. It was dark here, endless white ground under a black sky. The lift came to a stop, and Resh hopped the walker off the platform, which closed unceremoniously behind them. A vague trail of isolated light poles led off across the frigid landscape, and Resh drove the snowhopper alongside them.

"They sealed all the commuter tunnels from Capital City into Deadsville when the tourism project went belly up," he explained to the Wookiee, "far as I know, these lights are the only way to find the surface entrances." He looked out into the dark, arctic night ahead. Let's hope all these lights are still working, he added silently to himself. Pushing the control stick forward and tapping on the jump button, he sent the snowhopper bounding forward into the inky, sub-zero darkness.

Some time later, the string of beacon poles came to an end at a small, frozen bunker that barely stuck out of the snow that had gathered around it. Another snowhopper stood beside the bunker, empty and quiet. Resh brought his own hopper to a stop beside it, setting its power supply to an idle mode that would keep it heated for a few hours. Cracking open the canopy, the pair climbed out, assaulted by the biting wind. Wading through the piling snow, they made their way back to the cargo pod, retrieving the glowrods and life sensor that Duggas had assured them would be there.

Flicking on their lights, the pair made their way over to the other snowhopper, inspecting the frozen cockpit. The vehicle was completely powerless, and looked like it was stuck here for good. The Gotal wrenched at the canopy cover, which wouldn't budge. The Wookiee joined in his efforts, and her added strength forced the cover open. Climbing inside, Resh trained his light about the interior, and was caught by something on the floor. Bending down, he retrieved the object, a small piece of stone. It was carved, and Resh knew its features well. The stone had been chipped away to form the likeness of a Gotal child, himself. Gren had made the piece years ago, one of many such artifacts he enjoyed working on. Resh gripped the stone tightly, then put it in a pocket, climbing back out of the vehicle.

"He's been here, all right," he told his companion, raising his voice over the moaning wind.

They walked over to the bunker, whose door stood slightly ajar, and was iced over heavily. The two of them pulled mightily on the frozen partition, finally cracking it open just enough to squeeze themselves inside. Relieved to be out of the wind they stood for a moment, exhaling great plumes of frozen vapour. Resh played his light around the area, revealing an icy staircase that curled down into the murky depths, beckoning mysteriously.

"Well, I'm as ready as you are," he said, drawing his blaster. Gripping tightly to the frozen handrail, the pair descended into the forgotten, ghost-city of Deadsville...

Chapter 3

It was hard going. When the Vacationville work crews had abandoned the area long ago, they had performed only a cursory job of cleaning up after themselves. Scrap material lay scattered about, waiting to trip up the unwary traveler. It was cold here, and an invisibly thin layer of ice covered many surfaces. Platforms without handrails reached out over frozen darkness, and ended without warning. The area was a deathtrap, and there was little wonder why it had been sealed off from Capital City.

"At least we have some light," Resh remarked, indicating the occasional naked service bulb, which tried valiantly to illuminate the area. Between these lights and the glowrods they carried, the pair was able to avoid the most dangerous obstacles. "Dorok Zalaster must have some energy officials in his pocket, to get power out here..."

He studied the sensor he carried in one gloved hand. There was life down here all right, scattered about randomly and ever-moving. Occasionally their ears picked up evidence of that life, which came to them in the form of savage howls and wicked laughter. Zalaster's pirate crew was a nasty bunch, all right, and Resh decided he'd be happy if he could finish this little rescue mission without seeing even one of them. The question was, which of the signatures on his sensor were pirates, and which was his poor, hapless Uncle Gren Vost?

Staring down at the sensor, he was surprised, then, when he ran straight into the back of his Wookiee friend. "What's the matter?" he asked, wondering why she'd stopped moving. The Wookiee held one large paw in the air, making not a sound. Resh listened intently, trying to hear a trace of whatever had alerted the Wookiee woman.

There it was. A low, unusual buzzing sound, constant but strangely un-mechanical in nature. Wookiee and Gotal looked at one another, then proceeded forward carefully. The sound grew in volume as they advanced, and Resh consulted his sensor once more. Whatever was making that strange noise, there was at least one lifeform in that very direction.

As they continued onward, they found their way onto a wider street area, bordered on both sides by vacant, dusty shops and buildings. Broken windows looked menacingly down upon them, dwarfing the pair. The strange swirling, buzzing noise grew louder, and Resh cast his eyes ahead. Up the street, there appeared to be an eerie, multicoloured light brightening the area. It pulsed slowly, matching pace with the pulsing, buzzing sound. "Come on," Resh told his companion, sticking to the shadows as he approached the unusual phenomenon.

The pair stopped short of an abandoned restaurant, the noise from within becoming uncomfortably loud. The radiant light burst forth from the building's long windows, and the two of them were forced to stand in plain sight. Consulting the sensor one more time, Resh confirmed there was one lifeform inside, on the far side of the ground floor. With the Wookiee following close behind, he let himself in the main entrance. The sound was deafening now, and it was all they could do not to cover their ears as they walked through the main room, past a great row of abandoned, stacked tables. The blinding light shot toward them through a door at the back of the room and, covered by the Wookiee's bowcaster, Resh walked carefully up to the door, opening it.

Assaulted by light and sound, they pushed their way inside and surveyed the room through squinting eyes. Gren Vost was here, kneeling at the foot of what appeared to be an old, walk-in freezer. Its door was open, blocking their view of what might be inside. More of Gren's arcane carvings and weavings littered the floor, and were strung about the freezer. Light and sound poured out of the large metal cubicle, and Gren, arms outstretched and eyes closed, basked in it.

"What's going on here?" Resh called over the noise, surprising the older man. Gren turned toward him, looking like he wanted to say something, then urgently turned toward the freezer again. Without warning a hand reached out of the refrigeration unit, long, thin inhuman fingers stretching out softly, looking to Resh for all the world like the leaves on some aquatic plant. The hand, it's owner hidden behind the freezer door, beckoned to Gren, who turned once again to his Gotal ward.

"I'm sorry to have to leave you like this," he said, strange emotions playing over his face, magnified by the piercing light. "Perhaps, one day, you'll understand..." He reached out, taking the bizarre, ethereal hand in his own, and allowed himself to be drawn into the freezer, pulling the heavy door closed behind him.

The lights and deafening sound ceased instantly. With a ringing in his ears, Resh charged forward, wrenching open the door of the refrigeration unit. Inside, there remained nothing to indicate that anything had ever happened inside. Two old barrels sat against the far wall, and no other doors presented themselves. The young Gotal looked around the kitchen frantically, settled on the weavings and carvings that littered the area. Picking up a knotted cord, he twisted it in his hands as he spoke to his Wookiee friend.

"I thought I'd seen some crazy things, but..."

Before he could finish, the kitchen's back door slammed open, and three of Dorok Zalaster's pirates stormed into the room. They looked around, confused, the pirate in front settling his gaze on Resh. His gruesome face was woefully familiar to the young Gotal.

"Well, if it isn't my little friend, from Lockjaw's," He said, clenching his hands into fists. "Deadsville is Dorok's territory," he told him, "hand over your credits. If you've got enough, me and my mates might not kill you..."

"Wait a second," one of the other pirates cut in, interrupting him. "This Wookiee... That's Grakkata! Treespirit's cap'n!"

The first pirate sized up the Wookiee hungrily, "Well, I'll be," he said, "looks like I just made first mate..."

In reply, the Wookiee woman Grakkata leaped forward at the three of them, letting fly with a bone-chilling howl. Surprised, the pirates jumped backward, running into each other and knocking themselves to the ground. Picking up an old trash bin, Grakkata smashed it down upon the trio, as Resh opened the door through which they'd come in, calling on her to follow him.

The pair charged headlong past the stacked tables in the dining room, hurling themselves through the restaurant's main entrance. Angry shouts followed close behind, as the pirates collected themselves to come after them. It was darker in the street, the light created by Gren's mysterious experiment now absent. Running madly, Resh and Grakkata made for the smaller passages that had brought them here. Other shouts were beginning to gather around them now, as the rest of Zalaster's gang converged upon the area. Blaster fire came screaming at them from the alleys and side streets, becoming more numerous as even more thugs arrived on the scene. Hearts pumping madly, the duo ran for all they were worth.

Grakkata closed the snowhopper's canopy over them, while Resh warmed up its drive. Creaking mournfully, the vehicle's icy legs raised its body up in the air, flexing slightly. Resh tapped the dash impatiently, waiting for the readouts to indicate the machine had warmed up sufficiently. Every second that passed brought their vagrant pursuers ever nearer. Grakkata howled impatiently, and pointed at the other hopper, the one that had brought Gren Vost here.

"It's totally frozen," Resh answered her, "they'll never get it going."

With a bang, the surface bunker's door slammed open, and a gang of Zalaster's thugs burst forth. Out of time, Resh pointed the snowhopper's stick forward, whacking the jump button. The arctic vehicle leapt proudly into the air, taking them a good distance from the goons, who were opening fire on the insectile machine. Several of the pirates turned their attention to the other hopper, wrenching its canopy open and climbing inside. Seeing this, Grakkata howled at Resh again.

"I'm tellin' ya," he said, hopping the vehicle along wildly, "they're not going anywhere in that thing!"

Unconsoled, the Wookiee flicked on the turret gunnery controls, angling the blaster backward. Behind them, the pirates dove madly for cover as Grakkata's wicked blaster bolts lit up the snowy night, cutting into the frozen machine.

"Well," Resh amended thoughtfully, "I guess that didn't hurt, either."

Hopping away into the frozen darkness, the FT-PT walker made its way back to Capital City.

Chapter 4

The night watch woman shifted in her chair, belched, and reached for another Meri jellyroll without taking her eyes off her holoprogram. Surprises were few and far between in the early morning hours here at Port Control, and she liked it that way. Demolishing the jellyroll in two huge bites, she wiped powder from her lips with one chubby hand, scrabbling for another roll with the other.

On the other side of her desk, Mirren Anjivar Resh, Port Control employee, crawled along on his belly bound for the technical stations deeper in the building. With the noise of the holoprogram aiding to cover his advance, he had an easy time of slipping past the woman, and disappearing down a side hallway.

His purpose finally crystal clear, Resh proceeded with confidence through the corridors of Port Control. Grakkata, captain of the Treespirit, was obviously a pirate of some kind or, at least, an enemy of Dorok Zalaster. She’d come here undercover to observe the pirate lord, in an attempt to outsmart him and his operation. At Lockjaw’s last night, she’d heard his friend Badram explain how he’d programmed a sensor alert regarding her vessel, which had probably already landed. Thus, she needed someone from Port Control to de-program the alert. Having aided Resh so well so far, the Gotal did indeed feel an obligation to help her. Yes, it was all very clear at last, but for one thing: he still had no idea who had turned he and Gren’s home upside down, or why.

The two sensor operators in the control station were only slightly surprised to see Resh, and waved amiably. "What’s the matter," one of them said, "can’t enjoy a day off, no more?"

Resh laughed, seating himself at his console. "Actually," he lied, "I forgot I’d programmed this baby to play me music at random intervals. I’d hate to see you all get blasted with some Dianoga Gang when the boss walked in." He spoke casually, calmly deprogramming the alert, his monitor facing away from the others.

"Dianoga Gang," said the other, "they sold out when they went on tour with Hyperlane Boys in the deep core!"

The alert nullified, the Gotal wasted no time in wrapping up the pleasantries and getting out of there. Back in the lobby, he again crept past the fat woman at the desk, who now sipped a large cup of hot liquid, making vulgar slurping sounds. But instead of rounding the corner to where the building’s front door awaited him, he turned to look for a moment at the woman, who was still riveted to her program. Standing out of sight, he stared at the hot cup of juava on the desk, and concentrated. Uncle Gren had taught him many things in his twenty-three years, relaxation techniques and basic moral decency only a couple of them. Focusing his mind on the cup, he sent a slight mental nudge in its direction. With a startled cry, the large desk jockey jumped up into the air as the juava spilled over, soiling some papers nearby.

With a chuckle, Resh slipped out the door unseen.

Viewed out the cockpit glass of the Treespirit, the frozen iceball of Lanthrym began to look increasingly insignificant to Resh, who watched it shrink with interest. Though he didn’t admit as much to Grakkata, this was the first time he’d ever been off the surface of his planet that he was aware of, the pleasures of interstellar flight being regarded only as an expensive luxury to most of the planet’s citizenry. Knowing nothing about spaceflight, he instead turned his attention to the vessel’s sensors, was given pause by what he found there.

"Two ships coming in," he announced. "Wait, I know the type… they’re Dorok’s scout ships!"

Grakkata barked out a reply, began punching buttons on a computer while she flew the ship with ease. "Miss Grakkata is plotting a course through hyperspace," RO-6, the Wookiee’s chrome servant droid told him, "she should have coordinates in a couple of minutes."

Resh watched his readout anxiously as the attack ships came nearer. Before too long, a beep from the astrogation computer caught his attention. "We’re ready to go," Arro told him.

Grakkata spoke for a moment, punctuating her words with what sounded like laughter. When the silver droid didn’t translate, Resh prodded the humanoid robot. "What did she say?" he asked.

The droid turned to face him. "She says, ‘you know, it’s not too late to take an escape pod back to the surface…’"

Resh smiled in reply, examining the cockpit’s control console. "To enter hyperspace, you just pull these levers?" he asked.

"Yes, that’s right," the shining droid told him.

Leaning forward, Resh seized the jump controls, and pulled them back with great enthusiasm.