By I. J. Thompson
Illustrated by Amanda Price
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, in distant Elrood sector, a young shiphand-for-hire is about to learn that destiny is something that can neither be predicted, nor escaped…
The Degan Gas Clouds lit up the sprawling void, though there were no eyes present to behold their majestic beauty. Colour giving way to colour, the clouds stretched across the lonely expanse, glittering like a collection of formless, celestial jewels. Without regard for time or distance they shone mysteriously, as they had done for millennia, and would continue for millennia untold.
A shape disrupted the ethereal grace of the clouds, clunky and mechanical. Like a metal blemish defiling the breathtaking region it appeared from nowhere, quickly slowing down from the incredible speeds that had cloaked it in invisibility. The Gallofree Medium Transport Hard Labour slowed to a crawl, its flattened, tubular shape reflecting the magical light of the mysterious celestial phenomena.
On the bridge of the Hard Labour, good-natured chaos ensued. "Well, well..." puffed Captain Loak, flapping grey beard punctuating his words, "It looks like ol' Martum has been sneaking his flask onto the bridge, after all!"
Astrogator Martum held his hands in the air, warding off the friendly jeers coming from the rest of the small bridge crew. "Guilty!" he confessed, "Just a nip here and there, I swear. But don't worry, gents. I'll have us back on course to Osirrag in two shakes of a mynock's wing!"
"Yeah, right," sensor chief Shep called out, "more like, he'll have us covered in mynocks and floating around out here 'til we've eaten the whole cargo!" Punctuating his words, he crumpled an empty fruit bar wrapper in one hand and threw it across the bridge at the younger man, making the others roar.
Itar Grendling smiled at Martum, not quite willing to laugh directly at a man he'd only just met. This was his first haul on the Hard Labour, and he wanted to make a good impression. Working as a freelance shiphand-for-hire since his teens, the twenty-eight year old human had served with more interstellar crews than he cared to remember. It was an unpredictable, yet repetitive lifestyle - hanging around a spaceport, getting hired, loading some crates, playing sabacc in hyperspace, unloading, and hanging around another spaceport. He'd seen more of the galaxy than many beings his age, which he enjoyed, but the fly-by-night lifestyle was at last beginning to take its toll on Itar. The money, in particular, usually amounted to just enough to keep him fed and clothed until he found his next haul. Itar longed to learn the ins and outs of commercial spaceflight, but could never seem to amass the credits required to attend any of the flight academies found across the galaxy, which were often very expensive.
And so he would hang around on the bridge of a vessel, when the captain would allow it, and try to soak up all the knowledge he could. In this instance, Shep, the Hard Labour’s sensor chief, was currently coaching Itar in the finer points of sensor operation. While Captain Loak and the rest of the bridge crew waited for Martum to replot their course to Osirrag, Shep turned back to Itar and the sensor controls.
"Well, since we've stopped anyway, I guess we can put some of these procedures to practice. First of all, let's see you run a full scan of the area outside the ship." As Itar manipulated the sensor controls, Shep swiveled in his chair, gazing out a viewport.
"Ah yes, the Degan Gas Clouds... this is your first visit to Elrood Sector, Itar, but believe me - if you spend any time here, you're going to get to know this place."
"It looks spectacular," Itar remarked, briefly looking up from his console.
"Looks can be deceiving," Shep went on mysteriously. "Local spacers say the clouds are a strange place... a haunted place. It's been said there're Star Dragons out here, and stranger things. Have you ever heard of a Void Ghost?"
"No," Itar replied, politely disbelieving.
Martum called to Shep from across the bridge. "Neither have I! And neither have you, you old fool!"
Amid the bridge crew's laughter, Shep went on, shaking a finger at them all in mock warning. "Go on and laugh now! But it won't seem so funny when the Void Ghosts come to swallow our vessel whole!"
Itar laughed, glanced at something that caught his attention on the sensor screen. "Um," he cut in, "I don't know about any Void Ghosts, but it looks like there are three signatures coming in behind us."
"Close in for a focus," Shep instructed him, leaning forward with interest. Itar did as he was told, was rewarded with a brief readout on the approaching vessels.
"Scout ships," he announced to the bridge, "Redthorn class."
A nervous tension seized the bridge, and everyone turned to Captain Loak. The older man stroked his beard anxiously, said, "Martum, we need light speed to Osirrag. Right now."
The astrogator hammered at his console, calling back over his shoulder. "These calculations take a long time - we're really out in the boondocks, here..."
"They're gaining fast," Shep commented, peering over Itar's shoulder at the monitor.
Itar looked around at the others, wondering just who was coming after them. "Why not just make a quick microjump, somewhere far enough away to recompute later?"
"It's no good," Martum explained. "We're at a dead stop, here. Leaping straight into hyperspace could really shut us down... if we were even lucky enough not to collide with some space debris. This whole area is totally uncharted."
His last few words were interrupted by a wicked pounding sound on the ship's hull, and they all shook slightly in their seats. "I'm ready to open fire whenever you order it," said Nendo, the Hard Labour's weapons officer.
Loak turned toward him. "What is your opinion of the effectiveness of our cannons against them?"
"Those scouts are pretty tough. Best case scenario, they decide they don't want to get dirty, and leave. As for shooting them down, well..." he trailed off, the crew's confidence trailing away with it.
A new voice sounded on the bridge, its menace clear despite the crackling static. "Prepare to be boarded. Resist, and be destroyed."
Nendo stood up, addressing the captain. "Sir, I suggest Itar run down to the cargo bay, and get the other hands ready for combat. Those ships are fairly small... how big a boarding party could there be?" Itar rose from his seat in compliance, but was stayed by Captain Loak's steady hand.
"No, I don't want to sacrifice anyone. Our cargo is legitimate, and although our trip will be wasted if they take it, a hold full of imported foods isn't worth the lives of any of our people. Under no circumstances will anyone interfere with the pirates."
"They're linking up now, sir," Shep informed them all, and everyone sat in nervous silence while Weapons Officer Nendo left them to meet their uninvited guests at the airlock. Short minutes later, they were faced with the man's unhappy news over the comlink.
"The pirates are aboard, sir. We're on our way to the bridge right now."
The hatchway hissed open, revealing two fearsome thugs who stepped menacingly onto the bridge. The first, a Gamorrean, hoisted his vibroaxe high and stood just inside the door, watching everyone assembled. The second, a human, strode forward handling a small electronic device in one hand. Nendo, coming in behind them, took up his position at his weapons console while he updated the captain on their situation.
"Two more of them have gone down to engineering, sir. And the other two scoutships are poised to strike."
Loak nodded, and turned his attention back to the pirates. The human stepped forward, beady eyes studying the older man from beneath a black and orange bandanna. "You are Captain Loak?"
When the captain made no move to deny it, the pirate lifted his small contraption, pointing its tiny lens ahead of him. Light burst forth with a wine, stretching itself vertically and coalescing into the form of a tall, fearsome man. The man was bald, his entire scalp covered in intricate, black and orange tattoos depicting scenes of beastly savagery. A wicked-looking scar emerged from the pattern, running down the side of his face to end in a hook shape on his chin. His mouth was framed by a long mustache, as black as his frowning brow. The recording stared forward, and spoke in gritty, unnerving tones.
"Loak… surely you expected to see me again? Surely you didn’t think you could trade freely in Elrood Sector without Dorok Zalaster finding out? Next time you should have the foresight to sweep your hull for homing beacons… if there is a next time.
"You owe me a small piece of technology, Loak. Shall I refresh your memory? An experimental Imperial code slicer. Last I heard, you and the slicer were out this way a couple months ago, you hanging out in every two-bit cantina in the sector looking for a specific buyer. Of course, I know it was me you were looking for, and I’m sure you’ll tell me why you didn’t simply deliver it to me at my base. And, of course, you will now kindly tell me who you sold it to, or suffer the consequences."
Loak, visibly perspiring, cleared his throat and spoke in halting tones to the pirate who operated the hologram. "I was conned… the slicer didn’t work. It – it was just a chunk of circuitry. I ejected it…"
The pirate erupted with a sinister laugh, echoed by the chortling Gamorrean. Wordlessly, the thug played with the controls on his projector, calling forth a different image of their leader.
"Have it your way, Loak," Dorok’s shimmering image hissed. "You’ve forced me to proceed with plan ‘B’. Men, I permit you to use a free hand in ensuring the Hard Labour’s life support systems are made non-operational. What Captain Loak needs, I think, is a little peace and quiet to remember just whom he sold the slicer to. About a few hours worth of peace and quiet should do. If he doesn’t remember in that time he will, with his death, have proven his innocence." An evil smile cracked the image’s face, which winked out without fanfare.
The human pirate pocketed his projector, and produced a comlink in its place. Not taking his eyes off the captain, he spoke to the pirates in engineering. "Alright… go ahead, boys."
Putting the comlink away, he strode purposefully toward the main life support computer. Getting there, he was suddenly leapt upon by Shep, who struggled valiantly to bring the younger man down. The pair wrestled a moment, until their melee was disrupted by a shriek of blaster fire. The Gamorrean charged into the centre of the bridge, swinging his vibroaxe menacingly at all of them while Shep slumped to the ground, dead. The pirate pointed his heavy blaster at the crew, smiling wickedly as he operated the computer with his other hand. "Loak, you should be thanking me; did you really want someone so stupid in your crew?" Calling up displays for air, heat and lights, the pirate methodically shut them all down, plunging them all into darkness broken only by the meager red emergency lighting.
"That oughta set the mood," he commented. "Qron, get over here." The Gamorrean stepped forward obediently, raising his fearsome axe over his head. With a squeal of victory, the beefy alien smashed the console, sending pieces of broken metal and plastic flying. After a few more hits, the console was reduced to an unrecognizable mess; the dim red emergency lights making it look almost as if it were bleeding.
The human produced his comlink again, spoke curtly into it. "How’s things in engineering?"
A voice responded, sounding pleased. "They not gettin’ a-why, wif wot I took!"
The pirate smiled and headed for the hatchway, the Gamorrean thug following close behind. Pausing in the hatch entrance, he fixed the captain with an icy stare.
"Think about it."
And then they were gone, their ship unlinking from the Hard Labour. The three scouts flew a few menacing circles around the transport, then vanished into the obscurity of hyperspace.
Captain Loak exhaled heavily and turned to the crew, his face grim under the meager red lighting. "Alright men, let’s try to find some glowrods so that we can see what we’re doing. Nendo, come over here and see if there’s anything you can do with the life support. Martum, I want you looking at the hyperdrive. Somebody bring Shep down to the main airlock – there will be a short burial service in thirty minutes. All hands are expected to attend. Itar, I guess you may as well take over on the sensors. I know we’re way off course here, but we’d be foolish not to keep our eyes open." Zipping up his jacket, he made for the hatch, another thought stopping him just short of it.
"Oh - and, nobody breathe anymore than they absolutely have to. It’s my guess we’ve got about six hours to solve our little problem…"
It was cold on the bridge, and Itar shivered, tugging his jacket collar up around his neck. The sensor screen before him endlessly repeated its unhappy news: they were utterly alone. Sipping a cup of hot juava, Itar kept quiet and waited patiently for his sensor sweeps to reveal any hope. Nearby, Captain Loak sat in his chair listening to Nendo, who leaned close and whispered to his boss. Eavesdropping, Itar kept his eyes on his instrumentation and his ears on the private discussion.
"It looks bad, sir," Nendo reported in hushed tones. "This would be a simple case of reprogramming, except the life support console’s been totally destroyed. We can’t simply crack open the oxygen tanks, you understand - to say nothing about the heat…"
"I understand," Loak told him. "Well, keep working on it anyway. At least as a way to keep warm."
Martum appeared on the bridge, back from his appraisal of engineering. "Well, we’re doomed," he said loudly, throwing his hands in the air and disrupting the quiet in the chamber.
"Damage report?" Loak asked.
"I wish!" Martum replied. "A damaged hyperdrive motivator we maybe could have fixed! But we’re not so lucky – they’ve taken ours. I don’t suppose anybody here has a spare one in their locker."
Everyone grumbled, looking bleakly down at the deck. Itar turned away, staring hopelessly out a viewport. The Degan Gas Clouds shone on, turning a blind eye to the Hard Labour’s plight. The lights outside the ship seemed to brighten momentarily, and almost appeared to be moving around them. Itar leaned closer, not wanting to believe his eyes were playing tricks on him. To his surprise, a great ring of light swooped into view, spinning wildly and irising inward and outward. It stopped still for a moment, then flew out of sight in the blink of an eye.
"Hey, everyone, look!" Itar called out, prompting the others to gather around the windows.
"What’s this?" Nendo asked tensely, "Zalaster’s thugs have returned to make our lives worse?"
"No, something else," Itar told them, "something strange. Just wait…"
Before he could finish, the anomaly returned, eliciting gasps from the Hard Labour’s bridge crew. As long as a medium-sized freighter, the mysterious ring swam spritely through the space outside the vessel, flashing multicoloured light at them all. Shrinking in on itself and growing a few more times, the breathtaking phenomena spun gaily, and flashed away to hide itself far away among the clouds.
"Well, search me," Captain Loak said in wonder, "Old Shep may have been onto something with his Void Ghosts, after all…"
Beep-beep.
Itar looked down at his sensors, expecting to see that they were malfunctioning. He’d been running scans for a long time, and his tired mind had at some point simply accepted that nothing would ever reveal itself to reward his efforts. Surprised he was, then, to discover a new signature approaching portside, flying a smooth, straight line.
"I’ve got something!" he called out excitedly, startling the others. Leaping up, everyone gathered around the young shiphand.
"What is it?" Captain Loak demanded. "If it’s Dorok’s men, we’ll have no choice but to attempt an ambush."
"Just what I wanted to hear, sir," Nendo volunteered, rubbing his hands together angrily.
"No, it’s something else," Itar told them. "A transport. A Ghtroc 720… that could be just about anybody."
"Well, they’re hailing us," announced the Hard Labour’s Communications Officer.
"Let’s hear it," Loak commanded, returning to his chair. The bridge’s speakers crackled to life, and a calm woman’s voice made its presence felt among them.
"-spirit. Are you in distress? Please respond. Transport Hard Labour, this is independent freighter Treespirit. Are you in distress? Please respond. Transport…"
"Affirmative," Captain Loak announced over the open channel. "My crew and I are stranded, and in jeopardy. Any assistance you could provide would be gratefully accepted."
"Understood," the cool, female voice intoned. "With your permission, we will commence boarding immediately."
Itar smiled in relief, watching the newer ship approaching out the window. It looked like a sound vessel, painted in the wild greens and browns of forest camouflage. It spun slowly, orienting itself with the larger craft.
Nendo stood, called to the captain. "I’m on my way down to meet our guests, sir."
Loak rose, draining the last of the tepid juava from his cup. "By The Force," he exclaimed, "let’s all go!"
Itar tensed involuntarily as the airlock hatch opened, he and
the others ready for trouble. Two shapes revealed themselves in the doorway, one
large and menacing, the other smaller, and far less fearsome. The larger shape
stood two and a half meters tall, and was covered head-to-toe in grey and brown
fur. The Wookiee female peered at them suspiciously, pointing her bowcaster
without apology. She howled once, prompting the second shape to step forward.
This was a droid, humanoid in configuration and covered completely in a reflective chrome finish. She fixed her large, smooth photoreceptors on the crew gathered, and spoke to them in a voice that Itar recognized from the words he’d heard exchanged over the radio.
"Greetings, crew of the Hard Labour. I am RO-6, and this is my mistress Grakkata."
Captain Loak stepped forward. "Greetings to you, also. We are very relieved you’re here. Our situation is very grim. If you would like to make good on your offer to assist us, we could really use your help."
The Wookiee made no move to lower her bowcaster, and instead howled out a few words of her own, which were translated by the droid Arro-Six. "What is the cargo you are hauling, please?" she asked politely.
Loak’s brow furrowed, the man becoming suspicious. "Food," he said flatly, "out-of-sector goods, for the farmers of Osirrag."
This seemed to stay the Wookiee somewhat, and she lowered her fearsome weapon. Barking out a response, she leaned against the airlock hatch as she gave the droid instructions. "And what do you require to get yourselves back in running order?" The silver mechanical asked them.
"Hyperdrive motivator, mostly," the Captain said without hesitation. "But without a new life support console, it probably wouldn’t make much difference." The Wookiee listened to this, then spoke again to her robotic companion. The droid listened carefully, then turned toward the Hard Labour’s captain.
"Mistress Grakkata does not have the parts you need." Everyone groaned at the news, but the droid continued, unabated. "On the other hand, she thinks she can get them, where we’re going. However, she will require one of your human crewmembers to accompany us, and perform a favour, in return."
"What kind of favour?" Loak asked suspiciously.
Arro-Six listened to her mistress, replied flatly. "That will only be told to the one of you who comes with us."
Loak looked around the airlock at crewmember and shiphand alike. "Are any of you interested in pursuing this?" Not surprisingly, a lot of hands went up. "Itar," the captain said, "I see your hand, there. As the only newbie in this lot, I guess I’d call you least obligated to go down with the ship. Are you serious about wanting to go?"
"I’d like to do what I can to help, sir," Itar replied confidently.
"Well, it’s settled, then," Loak concluded. "Grakkata, I’d like to offer you the services of Itar Grendling, my newest shiphand." Itar stepped forward, extending a hand, which the Wookiee shook awkwardly. Grunting a few words at her droid, she turned and walked back into her vessel, motioning for Itar to follow. Arro-Six, left standing in the hatchway, translated for her mysterious owner.
"Thank you. We will return in, at the most, three hours."
"Glad to hear it," Captain Loak replied. "Any longer than that, and you might not find anyone left alive here to greet you…"
The Treespirit unhooked itself from the larger vessel, and floated idly for a moment before its Wookiee pilot steered it clear of the Hard Labour. Itar settled into a chair behind her, studying the cockpit around him. A pair of wrist-binders hung above him, where the chamber’s ceiling met the cockpit glass. They were broken, and looked to have been fixed in their position for sentimental reasons. Itar swallowed dryly, wondering just what he had gotten himself into.
He was interrupted in his musings by Grakkata’s bewildered howling, translated for his benefit by Arro-Six.
"And just what is that supposed to be?"
Itar stood, peering out of the cockpit. In front of them, the mysterious ring of light had returned, its smoky shape changing constantly. It hung in front of them a moment, then shot straight down at dizzying speed, vanishing from sight.
Arro-Six collected herself, turning toward her Wookiee mistress.
"I told you we shouldn’t have come around here!"
The miserable, wasted dirtball known as Dega rotated below the Treespirit, looking like a cracked, dried out globe of red concrete. The world’s sun, also red, blazed away in the distance, giving the two celestial bodies the appearance of a pair of eyes in the face of some hideous, evil creature.
It wasn’t always like this. Long ago, Dega had been a world of at least a few resources, the most important of which being large deposits of ores and minerals beneath its rocky surface. The planet had been seized by Radell Mining, and became the cornerstone of that company’s operations. By the time Dega’s resources ran dry, the world had been so heavily polluted with chemical wastes and industrial byproducts that it was deemed no longer fit for animal life. The corporate heads at Radell had since commissioned and approved safer, cleaner ways to reap a world's resources, but the damage had already been done – Dega was now nothing more than a sick, dying world, upon whose surface nothing but the most hardy of gnarled weeds continued to survive.
"Grakkata has arranged a meeting for you," Arro-Six said to Itar, who gazed out the cockpit with interest. "Your name is Captain Wold, and you are to be meeting one General Solter."
"A General," Itar replied hesitantly, "what military are we talking about, here?"
Arro lifted her hands, palms up. "Why, the Galactic Empire, of course," she replied. "Otherwise, Miss Grakkata would be able to do this herself! The Wookiees are an enslaved species, you know."
Itar leaned back in his chair. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he exclaimed, "you guys are going to drop me into some war zone, to make a shady deal with an army general?"
"Oh, I assure you," the silver droid explained, "your presence here is expected. As for what this leg of the army is doing here, we understand it to be strictly maneuvers; a training camp."
"Well, I feel better," Itar replied sarcastically as Grakkata brought the vessel in for a landing. Several prefabricated bunkers stood quietly, gathered around a modest airfield. Two Sentinel-class landing shuttles waited there, and Itar eyed them hungrily.
"Yes," Arro told him, following his gaze, "once your business with the General is concluded, Grakkata expects to be able to strip those vessels of the parts you need."
"Oh sure," Itar quipped, pulling on his jacket. "No problem."
The Treespirit landed smoothly on the parched, rocky earth, its engines grinding down to silence. The landing ramp descended moments later, and down it strode Itar Grendling, squinting his eyes to adjust to the unfamiliar red sky. Reaching out, he hit the button that retracted the ramp, taking a deep breath and collecting his thoughts. Okay, buddy, he thought, it’s all arranged. Can’t go wrong…
Turning back around toward the bunkers, there appeared two grey-clad army troopers, headed his way. Already nervous, Itar walked toward them under the crimson sky, attempting a clumsy imitation of a typical freighter captain. Alright, nice and casual…
The two troops stopped a few meters short of the young man, one of them holding up a hand, the other gripping a blaster.
"Identify," he said, emotionlessly.
"Uh," Itar stammered, "Captain Wal-uh-Wold, captain of the Treespirit. Here on urgent business with General Solter."
"I’ll need to see your identification, including ship’s licenses, crew and cargo rosters."
Itar froze, overcome with a sinking feeling inside. Looking around desperately, he prepared to do what he loathed most of all: improvise.
"Well I, uh… you see…"
"Forget it," replied the other soldier, turning to his companion. "Top says this guy gets the deluxe treatment. Says he wants to see him now. I wouldn’t go fooling around, here."
The first soldier straightened, holstering his blaster. "Very well," he replied, in a much more polite tone of voice. "If you will accompany us please, Sir?"
Itar exhaled sharply, legs turning to liquid beneath him. Attempting a smile, he replied in a shaky voice.
"Uhh, okay…"
With years of space travel under his belt, Itar had acquired a healthy dislike for the Imperial Navy; its patrols, troops, fighters, and bitter, angry customs officials bent on venting their frustrations on innocent freighter crews. This Army, on the other hand, appeared to be nothing but pleasant people and good times. Itar leaned back in the open landspeeder, whisked along by two troops determined to get their passenger to his destination safely and comfortably. Stretching out in the back seat, Itar enjoyed the hard, red scenery, and the wind on his face.
Now, I’m travelling in style!
Noises began to reveal themselves over the whining of the speeder’s engine, deep and booming. Itar studied the sky around them. There were thick clouds covering most of the sky, but he was too unfamiliar with this planet’s weather patterns to determine their function.
"Sounds like you’ve got a storm coming in," he called forward idly to his trooper escorts. The troops looked at one another, and smiled.
"Yes, I guess you could say that," replied the passenger with a smirk, while the pilot kept his eyes on the large rise coming up ahead.
Topping the rise, Itar’s heart leapt into his throat as he beheld the most awesome sight he’d seen on any world. The entire valley beneath them was at war. Towering vehicles stormed across the landscape, blasting madly away at foot soldiers, gun emplacements, and enemy vehicles. Explosions shook the ground across the entire area, echoed in counterpoint by the thundering footsteps of AT-AT and AT-ST walkers. As Itar watched breathlessly, one of the giant, four-legged walkers stealthily encroached upon an enemy radio bunker, crushing the prefab hut and all its inhabitants under one massive steel foot.
Itar gripped the seat in front of him, calling over the deafening racket. "Hey, wait a second," he yelled, "I can see you guys are busy with your war, and everything! Why don’t we just go back to the landing field, and maybe the General can come and meet me there?"
The trooper in front of him laughed, calling back over his shoulder. "There’s no need to worry, sir. You just need to look a little closer. Do you see those towers?"
Itar studied the battle as they approached. Indeed, there were three gigantic, monolithic towers bordering the valley, arranged in a perfect, equilateral triangle. As he looked closer, he saw that the area between the towers, inside of which the entire battle was contained, was tinged a slightly different colour than the rest of the landscape. Studying the field, he spotted a squad of stormtroopers charging a smaller group of enemy troops, blasting away mercilessly. The enemy troops fell to the ground and, after a few moments, disappeared. Itar's eyes widened in surprise, and he spoke to no one in particular.
"Holograms!"
The speeder wended its way through the violent battle, taking care to steer way clear of the numerous, and very real, Imperial troops and vehicles. One vehicle in particular sat relatively alone on the battlefield. Circling the area on tough treads, its twenty-two meter, heavily armoured shape gave the impression of a blissful disregard for the battle that raged around it. An Imperial Mobile Command Base was a formidable sight, and it was toward this massive vehicle that Itar was being taken.
While the speeder pilot parked their craft beside the hulking base, the other trooper radioed to the crew inside. In moments, a hatch on the back of the vehicle was lowering, two more troopers emerging and coming toward them. Itar hopped off the landspeeder, instinctively wanting to take cover from the illusory military destruction that raged around them.
"Greetings, Captain Wold," shouted one of the troopers over the din. "The General’s inside. Come with us please." He and the other trooper took up positions on either side of the baffled young shiphand, and began marching him toward the mobile base. Behind them, the speeder troops leaned on their vehicle, one of them reaching for a pack of cigaros.
The mobile command base was just as impressive on the inside, Itar discovered, as he was escorted down a slim corridor past banks of equipment and beeping machinery. His hopes of having a look at the cockpit were dashed, however, as he was halted beside a heavy steel door, one of the troopers activating its comm panel.
"Captain Wold has arrived, sir."
"Enter."
The door hissed open, revealing a modest, grey office. A desk took up most of what little space was available, and behind it sat an older man, grim-faced, with a startling shock of short, white hair that stood up in constant exclamation.
"Thank you, gentlemen," the General told the guards, dismissing them. Left alone with the stone faced military man, Itar shuffled uncomfortably, not sure what to do now that he was here. The General didn’t make it any easier on him, simply sitting behind his desk, hands laced together in front of him, staring into Itar with a piercing, unreadable gaze.
"Well, uh," Itar stammered, "It’s me… Captain Wold…"
The General didn’t budge, simply stared back at the nervous young man. He watched Itar’s tension get the best of him for a few more moments, then broke out in booming laughter, holding his sides as he leaned back, enjoying the younger man’s bewilderment.
"Captain Wold, huh?" he laughed, "And in what spaceport alley did Grakkata pick you up?"
Nervous again, Itar tried to figure out what the General was talking about. "Oh, you see, me and Grakkata…"
The man behind the desk waved his hand in the air, laughter subsiding. "Don’t worry," he explained, "you are no more this ‘Captain Wold’ than I am General Solter."
"What?" Itar asked, confused.
"Let me show you something," the man said in reply, raising his powerful frame from behind his desk and moving toward a covered antechamber recessed in the wall. "Come close," he told Itar with a smile, "you’re gonna love this…"
The man opened the hatch, revealing a small closet. Inside lay a man, gagged, and tied up with enough syntherope to hold a Dewback down. Though his mouth was covered, the angry man’s stiff white hair and flaming eyes were instantly recognizable: General Solter.
"Wait, a second!" Itar said in awe, studying the captive. "You two are twi…?" Turning back toward his companion, he let out a yell and leaped backward, faced with the most frightening sight yet. His own face stared back at him, from the top of his own body, still wearing the Imperial uniform.
Itar’s double stared back at him, and smiled slyly. "Call me Anybody."
"Wow," Itar said in amazement, "what are you?"
"At the moment," Anybody replied with a grin, "I am the commanding officer of the collected Imperial training forces here on Dega." He straightened his uniform for emphasis, looking back at Itar proudly. "Cool, huh?"
Itar looked down at the General, who was struggling madly and swearing at the two of them from behind his gag. "Maybe you can tell me why I’m here," he said over his shoulder to Anybody, who stood behind him. "You and Grakkata obviously set up this meeting, but she wouldn’t tell me what I’ve come out here to do."
Turning, he jumped again as he discovered that Anybody had returned to the form of the General. The mysterious being held out a data tape in one hand, which Itar accepted with interest. "This is what I agreed to give your friend," Anybody told him. "And, I must say, I had quite a good time acquiring it!"
"What’s on it?" Itar asked, turning the tape over in his hands.
Anybody raised a finger to his lips, smiling. "Now, now," he said, nodding in the direction of the closet, "not in front of the General. If our Wookiee friend wants you to know what that tape contains, she can tell you herself." He shut the closet door, studying the younger man with interest. "And what is your name, then?"
"Itar Grendling."
Anybody studied him another moment, then sat back down behind his desk, beeping for the guards to return. "Well, Itar Grendling," he said with a smile, "it has been a pleasure. I’ll be seeing you again!"
The door hissed open, and Itar was once more being whisked away by the two guards, who remained blissfully ignorant of the imposter who was their commanding officer.
Itar rode along in bewildered amusement, the battle zone and its deceptive commander far behind him. The speeder cruised across the rocky landing field, pulling up to stop beside the Treespirit. Itar hopped out, giving cordial thanks to the two troops, who drove on toward one of the bunkers further down the field. Itar looked up into the waning red sunshine, smiling in satisfaction.
Well, that was easy, he thought, now for those parts…
His thoughts were interrupted by a growl, coming from the direction of the two shuttles. Peering underneath the craft, Itar spied a furry, grey and brown shape concealed beneath one of them: Grakkata. The Wookiee woman was cramped under the ship, clutching a woven net that held what looked to Itar’s untrained eye like just the parts that were needed back on the Hard Labour.
"Come on," he whispered loudly, beckoning for the Wookiee to follow. Grakkata extricated herself from beneath the shuttle, trotting toward him across the cracked earth, toting her stolen goods in one hand. Itar gave his friend the thumbs-up victory sign, and stole a glance back toward the bunkers.
Two Imperial pilots were coming in their direction, headed for the shuttles. Grakkata saw them too, and ran right past Itar with a howl, slipping away into her ship. She was very clearly seen by the pilots, however, who ran toward Itar.
"Hey, stop right there!"
Itar froze, hoping to talk himself and the Wookiee out of the situation. The pilots converged on him, speaking loudly and suspiciously.
"What was your friend doing around those shuttles?" one of them demanded, drawing his blaster.
"Was that a Wookiee travelling with you?" pressed the other, drawing his weapon, as well.
Uh-oh, Itar thought nervously, improvisation time.
"Well, you see…" he stuttered, out of ideas. Then his face went slack, eyes bulging in amazement, as he stared far behind the two pilots, pointing one shaking finger.
"Oh no!" he cried out in terror, "Look!"
The pilots turned, looking for whatever had frightened the young man so. Seeing nothing, they turned back around just in time to see Itar’s backside running full-tilt up the Treespirit’s landing ramp. Cursing loudly, they opened fire on the ship, calling on their comlinks for backup.
In the cockpit of the Treespirit, Itar panted loudly as he threw himself into one of the contour seats, feeling the comforting sensation of the vessel lifting off. Grakkata gave him a good wallop on the shoulder, snorting out laughter and some garbled words, which the ever-helpful Arro-Six translated.
"No points for finesse," she said happily, "but double score for effectiveness!"
To the Imperials back on the surface, the Treespirit was now nothing more than a tiny speck, disappearing into the darkening, purple Degan skies.
"Mayday!" The panicked voice over the comm channel called. "Treespirit, this is Hard Labour. Dorok’s agents are back. We’re nearly out of oxygen, and we’re going to get hit too hard any minute!" An explosion boomed from the Treespirit’s speakers, and could be seen lighting up the larger vessel in the distance. The three scoutships buzzed around the long transport like a pack of frenzied predators, taking turns biting into the craft with their lasers. The voice returned, gasping for air. "They’re not going to let up until they’ve got what they want from the Captain!"
Grakkata roared, accelerating the Treespirit to dizzying speeds. The three enemy scoutships were easily seen against the glittering backdrop of the Degan Gas Clouds, and the Wookiee pursued one of them relentlessly while the other two adjusted to the presence of the new combatant. Itar grasped the ship’s gunnery controls, despite his lack of training in their use.
"Okay," he told the Wookiee and her droid, "I think I can do this…"
Squeezing the trigger, he let fly with a wild spray of laser fire, lighting up the area but coming nowhere close to their quarry. The other two scouts fell in behind them, the Wookiee howling a curse in her own language. The vessel began to shake under the pounding of enemy blaster fire, throwing the three of them back and forth in the cockpit.
"Get that cannon going, Itar!" Arro pleaded, "We have to take at least one of them out, before our shields go down!"
Itar fired again, missing once more. The pounding from behind them increased, the Treespirit’s shielding readout informing them that they’d gone critical. Arro-Six gripped her chair, stared nervously out the cockpit.
"We really must get some wood to knock on, in here…"
It was hard to target with Grakkata swinging the vessel around wildly, trying to shake their pursuers, but Itar was at last beginning to get used to the powerful weapon. Watching his targeting screen coolly, he allowed the scout ahead to glide through his targeting reticule, exhaled, and squeezed his trigger once more. This time, his aim was true, and the pirate vessel exploded in a spectacular fireball.
"Yes!" Itar yelled, "I’m gettin’ it!"
Their victory was quickly dashed, however, as another barrage from the rear knocked their shields out entirely. Studying readouts, Arro reported to her mistress in a panicked voice.
"That’s it!" She squeaked, "We’ve got to get out of here!"
Grakkata roared angrily, still dodging the attacks and clearly not wanting to leave. Cranking the Treespirit around into a wild loop, she sped in a new direction, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a new arrival in the combat zone: a great ring of celestial light, humming eerily and spinning away from their craft. The pirate ships banked away from the phenomenon, taking off in two directions. The dazzling ring pursued one of the scouts, seemingly angering its pilot. The scout ship banked around, coming straight at the mysterious anomaly with cannons blazing. The ring didn’t waver, simply flew straight at the pirate, irising inward and outward like a great, hungry mouth. They ran straight into one another, and both were engulfed in a great flash of light. When the blinding flash subsided, three objects remained in the area: the mysterious, floating ring, and two spinning, sparking starship wings, all that remained of the unfortunate pirate vessel.
Itar stared out the glass, transfixed, as Grakkata swung her ship after the remaining scout. This pirate ship clearly knew when to let up, however, and was already rocketing away from the area as fast as its sublight engines would allow. Before the Wookiee could even get it back in cannon range, the nimble craft screamed away into the protective obscurity of hyperspace...
"Thank the stars, Itar, you did it!"
Itar beamed, and nodded toward the Wookiee and her droid, who stood with him on the bridge of the Hard Labour. "Happy to help, Captain. But without Grakkata and Arro, It would have been curtains for us all. Not to mention," he added, "whatever it was floating around out there…"
"Ah, yes," Loak nodded, "the Void Ghost. I’m sure many among my crew will think twice before they heckle the old spacer superstitions again." He stared off thoughtfully across the bridge, supervising his crew’s repairs. The hyperdrive motivator the Wookiee had stolen had fit perfectly, and the life support control console, though not designed for this kind of vessel, was able to be added to the Hard Labour’s systems with a little creativity and some spare cable. Condensation beaded on the walls, watery remains of the ice that had formed during the ship’s most desperate hours.
"Pardon me, Sirs," Arro interrupted on Grakkata’s behalf, "but if all your systems are back up to specifications, mistress Grakkata and I should really be getting back to our ship."
"Walk you down," Loak replied, leading the way off the bridge. Itar followed along, wanting to be sure he said goodbye to his new friends. The four of them made their way back down to the tube that connected the two vessels, where Grakkata paused a moment, growling a few words to Arro.
The silver droid listened, then turned her smooth, shining head toward the young shiphand. "You know, Itar," she suggested, "if you ever get tired of lugging crates, there could be a place for you on the Treespirit…"
Itar laughed. "Tell you what," he said, turning a smile toward old Captain Loak. "No offense, cap’n, but I’m pretty good and tired of it now!"
Loak chuckled, clapping the younger man on the back. "Well," he sighed dramatically, "I’d be crazy if I thought I could keep a good man like you in the cargo hold. I think it’s high time you got out there to see the stars!"
Itar shook hands with the captain, and followed the Wookiee and her droid through the docking tube and into his new life in Elrood Sector.
