Part 2 - Kashyyyk ~ Chapter 3: Plummet

Not even Jedi were immune to nightmares. Actually, many Jedi suffered from nightmares more stunning in intensity than non-Force sensitives, as a result of their augmented memory and awareness. Renora, with her fairly cheerful outlook on life, the universe, and the pursuit of everything in it -- and despite her inherent and contradictory pessimism -- didn’t suffer from many guilt-driven or fear-induced nightmares at all, and rarely had to use the Force to keep them at bay. But she had experienced nightmares in the past, just as every sentient being had been invaded by a torrent of vaporous evil while they slept.

This was something out of a nightmare.

“Kark!” shouted Renora, snatching her lightsaber from her belt and igniting the golden blade. “Kriff! Son of a kriffing, karking murglak!”

“Padawan, that’s not helping!” Giddy called over the sudden eruption of sound from the top of the cliff. Scanning the horizon with one hand shielding her eyes, Master Gidrea pulled her own lightsaber from its place at her side, its jutting blue beam flaring to life in her other hand.

“It’s not hurting, either!”

Stormtroopers on speeder tansports that spat vicious orange flame from their rear thrusters tore down the cliff’s edge with startling speed. Imp officers in their unmistakable gray uniforms followed on gray speeder bikes, shouting orders that were lost to the collective clamor. Overhead, the skies trembled with the roar of the legendary twin ion engines that leant the TIE fighter its name.

In short, a kriffing nightmare.

Renora dived for cover behind a large boulder, hearing Chewbacca follow suit somewhere to her left. Giddy batted a few crimson blaster bolts back at the stormies clambering down the side of the cliff. Taking one final look at the sky, she crouched down next to her Padawan.

“I thought you said they didn’t know we were here,” hissed Renora.

“You were the one who said they’d be here in a little less than an hour.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?!”

“I thought you were supposed to know everything.”

Renora closed her eyes, feigning silent meditation to cover for her inability to think of a response.
“This is no time to take up meditating,” laughed Gidrea.

“You’re always telling me that there’s no time like the present,” said Renora, opening her eyes.

“Yes, but with the way things are going, we might not have very much present left.”

“You don’t seem too broken up about it!” shouted Renora as a TIE fighter began to strafe their position, lancing the musty soil with emerald turbolaser fire.

“Things are not always as they seem, Padawan.”

“So you are broken up about it?”

“I said that things are not always as they seem. In some cases, they are.”

“Like right now.” Renora ducked involuntarily as a torrent of blaster bolts glanced off the side of a boulder to her left. Chewbacca growled and returned fire.

“Partially.”

“Master! You’re talking riddles with someone who’s going to die in less than 24 hours!”

“Padawan.”

Giddy’s Padawan glanced up sharply. “What? Master.”

“Calm the kriff down.”

“You know that’s not helping,” said Renora with a sheepish smile.

“It’s not hurting, either.”

“Haven’t you ever seen someone have a nervous breakdown before?” Renora chuckled. But Giddy could see the fear in her eyes.

Chewie bellowed with an intensity to match the ion engines, his bowcaster spurting small, green blazes of energy-encased projectiles.

“He’s right,” said Gidrea. “Those Imperials will never make it all the way down the side of the cliff.”

Renora risked a glance over the top of the rock.

“They sure look like they’re going to try.”
“Do, or do not,” Gidrea sighed. “But Yoda wasn’t all-seeing.”

“And that has some bearing on our current situation?”

“Do you know the name of that cliff we were going to climb?”

“Uhh…Stillness Drop? Something like that? Stillness Plumber?”

Gidrea laughed. “I wish! Stillness Plummet. Stillness Plummet is a very different kind of cliff, Padawan. You see, the way the rock face is positioned, it’s extremely susceptible to any kind of disturbance waves.”

“Jumping droidekas,” whispered Renora.

“If only it were that amusing.”

“With the amount of noise those Imperial Gungans are making, they’re going to bring the whole kriffing mountain down on us all!”

Giddy nodded.

“What about the purple rock?”

“They may already have it. Probably not, though.”

“They’d want to make sure we’re out of the way first, so they can take their time devouring the birthday cake.”

“And the candles. And the plate.”

“There’s nothing we can do? This is how it’s going to end?”

“The great Giddy and Renora taken down by a herd of falling rocks,” said Giddy. “Would make for a horrible ending. And it was such a good story, too.”

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of ‘the great Giddy and the really, really, really great Renora taken down by a herd of falling rocks.’ I put your name first, Master.”

“How considerate of you.”

As if to underscore Renora’s act of kindness, the ground began to shudder with practiced violence, bucking in revulsion at the violence scarring its untainted surface.

“Padawan?” Gidrea said suddenly.

“Yes, Master? Whatever you say can’t possibly make matters any worse than they are.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Certainly, and always, Master.”

“What is your purpose?”

“My purpose? To live as a Jedi, of course.”

“And so you do. But if you live as a Jedi, you must be prepared to die as a Jedi, as well. What kind of Jedi would you be if you didn’t?”

“I never wanted to be a good Jedi, Master,” said Renora, rising to her feet. “Just a live one.”

“Renora, no!” called Master Lightsky, but her voice was swallowed by another tremendous movement of the planet’s surface. Her apprentice had already begun to sprint furiously towards the face of the cliff, dodging blaster fire and a hail of chipped stone and jagged rock. “Padawan, damn you to the Nine Hells, why do you have to learn from everything I do?”

“Chewbacca!” Giddy called. “Stay here!”

Chewie cocked his head in confusion, grumbling inquisitively.

“I’m going to cover Renora.”

Lifting his bowcaster over his head, Chewie barked another question sharply.

“No, I don’t know what she’s going to do, but I don’t want her to die doing it!”

Helmet Head

Mina's giving me grief for not posting my offering on this site - but trust me, it looks better in black.
So go ahead - click and enjoy.

Apology Accepted, Captain Needa

Captain's Log:

Captain’s Holocron 41464.3. - As acting Captain of the Avenger, my unit has been assigned to Darth Vader’s Death Squadron. I have my doubts about Admiral Ozzel’s motives and fear he will be killed by either the Emperor or that…that…Dark Lord known as Darth Vader. We all fear for ourselves. Funny thing is the fleet has dubbed the Sith Apprentice, Vader Bastard. I have to remind them to be careful of what they say. I have to trust Admiral Ozzel’s motives. My loyalties still lie with him and I shall continue to serve as his main advisory, but I fear this will result in severe consequences towards the fleet.

Captain’s Holocron 41467.2. – Gone are the glory days of the Clone Wars, where I could command my ship under my free will. It seems as though the Emperor has forgotten my maneuvers during the Clone Wars at the Battle of Coruscant. It was I that trapped and destroyed General Grievous' Invisible Hand. Now all I feel is this tight hold around my neck from Vader, the Emperor’s puppet. I no longer can command my ship as I please for it is controlled under a tight leash by that Vader bastard. I will continue to do what I do best; discover and destroy the Rebel Alliance. Maybe that will get me some respect someday.

Captain’s Holocron 41468.5. – Oh crap, I've just been informed from Captain Piett, who is now acting Admiral, that my strongest ally Admiral Ozzel, has been force choked to death by Vader. I guess Vader can be called the Executioner, befitting that his ship is called Executor. On the orders of Darth Executioner (I meant Vader), the Avenger’s course has been set to the planet world known as Hoth. I hope this doesn’t turn out to be just another wild bantha goose chase around the galaxy after a bunch of snot nosed kids and a ship that looks like a flying saucer. My patience is growing thin. I would enjoy being released from duties under this Vader bastard. He’ll be the death of me yet if my crew and I continue to follow him on these damn-fool-idealistic-crusades.

Captain’s Holocron 41525.2. - What the hell is this Vader bastard thinking? He’s instructed the fleet to fly into an asteroid field after those snot-nosed kids in that ship that looks like a flying saucer. The Avenger is taking severe hits from the asteroid field. I must rethink our course and plea with Vader that this is not a good idea. He might as well tell me to pass out ‘death sticks’ to my crew as that would be a quicker death than flying through an asteroid field.

Captain’s Holocron 41600.7. - Damn that Captain, he’s good and outmaneuvered my Star Destroyer and nearly caused it to collide with another pursuing destroyer. The Avenger suffered damage while it searched for the elusive Falcon, and the gunners stationed on board were forced to focus their attention on incoming asteroids rather than looking out for that freighter. While present during a holographic conference, I informed the Dark Lord that it had been some time since the freighter had appeared on the Avenger's sensors. I noted to Darth Executioner, given the amount of damage that the Imperial fleet had sustained due to asteroid collisions, the freighter had to have been destroyed. However, Vader didn’t believe me, and gave me orders to stay the course. We're all doomed.

Captain’s Holocron 41712.2 . - What in nine-Mustafar hells is that Vader bastard thinking? He’s hired bounty hunters. Swell, just swell. I’ve already informed Admiral Piett that the Avenger’s priority signal had tracked down that freighter and that we were about to capture her. We don’t need no stinking bounty hunters.

Captain’s Holocron 41812.9. - That freighter moved into attack position while the Avenger pursued it out of the asteroid field and into the neighboring Anoat System. I watched in horror as the freighter charged my bridge…my bridge…that Captain has balls or he’s insane by attempting to ram MY destroyer head-on. I’ve ordered the crew to track and prepare the Avenger in case that freighter makes another pass, but I've been informed that the Avenger’s sensors lost track of her. I wonder how that ship could have escaped? Oh crap, I’ve just been informed by the communications officer M'kae that Vader demands an update on the pursuit. I have no choice but to rendezvous with the Executor where I will personally apologize for losing his prey. I believe it is the most honorable thing to do, maybe begging for my life might help too. Vader is quite fond of conducting aggressive negotiations for situations like this. I hope the force is with me and that he is in a good mood.

First Officer's Log – The Avenger, supplemental.[open transmission] Captain Needa has just been force choked by Lord Vader. Wonder if I’ll get promoted to Captain of the Avenger. What a shiny thought…[end transmission]

Happy Birthday ESB from LOBOT!

He awoke that morning, as he did every morning, in his gray, formfitting sleepcouch that matched the gray carpeting and wallpaper in his room. It was 0500 Bespin time, time for nutrients and a sonic shower.

Sometimes he missed taking water showers, but he couldn't risk shorting out his cybernetic implants. Ha, he thought, where would Baron Administrator Calrissian be without him and his implants?

The only thing that bothered him about his job, really, when it came right down to the nuts and bolts... the only thing that bothered him, besides the nuts and bolts, was his puffy yellow sleeves.

Blast it; he was just like that Vader fellow, half-man, half-machine. He should have a snazzy black leather outfit, too. He'd told Calrissian that disco was dead on twelve systems, but new uniforms just weren't in the budget.

And the day that Lord Vader arrived on Cloud City, everyone should have seen Lando shaking in his shoes, making deals right and left to save his own ass.

And who saved all their butts in the end? Who called out the troops and rescued the Princess and the Wookiee? He, Lobot, had. Ha, Calrissian had been lucky that Wook hadn't strangled him!

He sighed, remembering that day. His moment in the sun. And he'd spent it standing in front of Imperial Stormtroopers wearing puffy yellow sleeves.

When it came down to the nuts and bolts, that's what truly bothered him.

Celebrations

Happy birthday ESB! from IG-88

"There will be a substantial reward for the one who finds the Millenium Falcon." Darth Vader's mechanically-enhanced voice went over the details of the bounty hunters' assignment again. The specifics had been handed to each bounty hunter earlier, in the form of an Empirial datapad.

"You are free to use any methods necessary, but I want them alive. No disintegrations." IG-88 knew that such a condition made the chances of successfully complying significantly smaller, but that is what the job required. And he was planning on seeing it through.

He studied his colleagues and employers. The bounty hunters he knew by name and reputation; some of them had worked together with IG-88 on previous jobs. The Empire had invited only the best. Still, he thought it was remarkable that only two droids were even remotely successful as a bounty hunter. For now, at least.

IG-88 knew of Lord Vader, of course. The black-clad enforcer was infamous throughout the galaxy as the one who brought the Emperor's enemies to justice -- which of course meant they were executed without a fair trial. The dark Jedi's efficient methods appealed to IG-88, but then Lord Vader was part machine. It was something of a connection.

The droid wondered if he could push some buttons on Darth Vader's suit, and what would happen. Even though he knew it could be done, IG-88 didn't want to risk the anger of the other bounty hunters. After all, it was his cover.

IG-88, or rather, IG-88B, acted as a bounty hunter -- a very good bounty hunter -- to provide his three counterparts the time and distraction to plan the Droid Revolution. That meant IG-88B had to keep his cover up for the time being, and contact IG-88A, IG-88C and IG-88D only when information had to be exchanged.

How things will change when the Revolution comes. They will dance to our music, he thought. IG-88 would do a sample of Evil Laughter if it had been in his programming.

A tumult occured on the bridge of the Cruiser. A small freighter, probably a smuggler, flew by the viewport so closely it made the crewmen jump. IG-88's acute hearing picked up his colleague's amused words, whispering so the Dark Lord wouldn't hear it. "There; I found the Millenium Falcon. Now where's my credits?"

Somehow IG-88 felt like he had been through this before. Organics would call the sensation "deja-vu", but to the droid it was something his sensors did not register and therefore it was considered untrue.

What did get his attention, though, was a picture on a viewscreen of one of the crew. It was shaped like a moon, but half of it was simply missing. IG-88 realized he was looking at the construction plans of a Death Star. A different one from the giant space station that was destroyed, a few standard months ago.

A new Death Star? That would provide IG-88A with the possibility of gaining control of such a destructive machine. It would be a great step forward in their plans for the Revolution.

IG-88 started doing his Happy Dance. This was something no organic had expected, and it created panic. His bounty hunter colleagues merely watched in fascination, while the crew assumed the droid to be preparing for mass murder -- at the very least -- and hurried away from him.

Seizing the opportunity, IG-88 sliced into the nearest computer terminal and uploaded one of his latest pieces of programming. He watched it spread to all the droids within the Star Destroyer, and within seconds, the protocol droid on the bridge starting singing.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..."

Soon, the computers chimed in with a wordless tune. The emergency intercom voice sang the same birthday song as the droid, and every crewmember fell silent.

Lord Vader laughed his butt off.

Quickly, IG-88 moved to his ship. Screw that mission, he thought. Today is time for a party.

"Happy birthday to me," he sang. "Happy birthday to ESB..."


***

This fanfic is brought to you in celebration of Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back. Click the link below for more celebrations with IG-88.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vE6l7WdBOs

Happy Birthday, ESB, From R2-D2!

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

923 ABY

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

The words hurried to isolate themselves from the sentence, recoiling against rusted metal crevices and bounding through walls the color of freshly spilled blood. Barden flinched slightly as the familiar lilt of his clipped Coruscanti accent was twisted and forged into an alien echo that hurled itself at him like the specter of some unfamiliar dream. It admonished him, punished him, made terrible demands that could not have possibly emerged from a mortal imagination.

Not for the first time that day, Barden began to wonder what the kriff he was doing out here.

“No time to get paranoid, old man,” said Ruk. “We’re almost there.”

“Yes, that’s usually when the ground falls out from under you.”

“If you were expecting something to go wrong, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. This whole little expedition was your idea.”

“Just because it was my idea, you shouldn’t assume I didn’t expect something to go wrong,” said Barden, twinges of annoyance beginning to play across his bearded face.

“You worry too much. Trust me. I know where we’re going.”

“So do I,” muttered Barden, “and I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

Running his sweat-streaked and filthy hand across his equally sweat-streaked and filthy forehead, Barden kept Ruk’s tall figure at most ten feet away from him, the thought of getting lost on a planet like Mustafar not entirely appealing.

Barden hated Mustafar. The oppressive heat did something more than tamper with his ability to breathe and to think, but seemed to reach a metal claw down into his stomach and dull the beating of his heart. Intellectually, he knew this had nothing to do with the heat; this was residual dark side energy lingering from an act of evil performed here nearly a thousand years ago. But his imagination was warped by the planet’s malevolent crevices and colors, and tricks of light and darkness that stretched across the entire world. It felt like a cage, and he was an animal about to be taken to the slaughter.

“This is it,” Ruk announced, the echo startling Barden from his reverie. “We’re here.”

Barden extended his consciousness through the Force. He was not a Jedi, and he had no formal training that allowed him to harness the Force in a controlled manner. But the Force was traditionally strong in his family, and he was no exception, much to his often-expressed dismay.

“Are you sure?” he asked, shutting his eyes against the visual world.

“Yes. He’s in there. I can feel it.”

Barden’s eyes snapped open. “For someone who just dragged himself out of the Mos Eisley cantina three months ago, you’re sure putting a lot of faith in those feelings of yours.”

“This place has many echoes of the Force, Barden.” Ruk’s eyes grew distant, and Barden imagined them peering over generations of history, thick with the heady film of legend. He shuddered. “I can feel them. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Barden nodded. “I know what you mean. But that means we must be even more cautious.” He looked up at the wide, rust-streaked door. “We go in?”

Ruk flashed a cocky grin. “After you, Master Kenobi.”

Barden frowned, stroking his beard in thought.

“What is it?” Ruk asked.

“I was just remembering the last time a Kenobi and a Skywalker were together on Mustafar.”

“Yes,” said Ruk, lowering his head in something that might’ve been shame. “One of them left in pieces.”

“No,” said Barden, shaking his head. “They both did. My ancestor, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was never the same man after the duel with his former apprentice. He loved Anakin. Despite everything, he believed in him. After Mustafar…” Barden shrugged. “He changed. Became consumed by what he saw as his own failure. What he didn’t know is that Anakin would still bring balance to the Force. The Jedi would return. But it took…” Barden’s voice trembled, and he inhaled sharply. “It took much sorrow.”

He looked up at Ruk, whose familiar features were twisted by painful memories of a life he never had.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Barden.

“I have to,” said Ruk.

“No, you don’t. We could leave. Or I could go alone.”

“No. No, I can’t leave. It’s my--” he laughed bitterly. “It’s my destiny, you know.”

“Yes. I know.” Sighing deeply, Barden gestured elaborately toward the door. “In that case, after you, Master Skywalker.”

Ruk grinned, his blue eyes flashing in the darkness. “My pleasure, Master Kenobi.”

As Ruk pressed his fingers against a control panel dear the door, it slid open with a whisper so faint that it did not even warrant the smallest of echoes. With that, Ruktan Skywalker and Barden Kenobi, two heirs to a legacy of terror and pain, triumph and transformation, walked through the archway and closer to that freak of time, that oddity of living: their destiny.

----------------

“A room,” said Ruk, his voice sounding hollow and distant in the small space.

“Very observant of you,” said Barden, but the quiver in his voice betrayed his false confidence. “Do you…see anything?”

Ruk snorted. “I see lots of things.”

“I mean do you see anything that might be something to us.”

“I don’t need to.” Ruk closed his eyes, the lines of tension and weariness on his face easing beneath the layers of dirt and caked blood. His lips curved upward in a slight smile, and the years seemed to drop away from him like a mound of sand in a light breeze. “I feel him,” he murmured.

“You enjoy that way too much,” said Barden, smiling slightly.
“I’m a Skywalker, remember?” said Ruk, his eyelids fluttering open. “We live for this Force poodoo.”

“Yes, when you’re not dying for this Force poodoo,” Barden said dryly. He stopped shortly, almost tripping over Ruk. “Is this him?” Barden asked, staring down at a small, domed machine with faded patches of blue and white around its perimeter.

“This is him. At least, I think so. He doesn’t look like any droid I’ve ever seen. I wonder if he even works after all this time.” Ruk bent over slightly. “Look at those scoring marks all around these…things. I don’t even know what they’re for. The thing’s ancien--Woah!”

Ruk almost toppled backwards as the droid, who was slumped over in the back of the room, lurched forward and chirped indignantly. A few lights flickered on the front of his exterior, and he turned in a circle to shake some of the dirt off of himself.

“I guess he works,” said Barden.

Kneeling near the droid, Ruk said, “I’m Ruktan Skywalker. You served my great-grandfathers, all the way back before the Clone Wars. My father, Lor Skywalker, told me where to find you.”

The droid twilled shortly.

“No, he’s dead. He was killed by the Mandalorian Supercommandos on Ossus. They sacked the Temple, and tried to burn the Jedi Archives after they ran off with some of our artifacts. My father died in the planetary defense. Before that, he told me to come here and find you. He said you would help me.”

The droid beeped twice, then turned around to go back to his corner.

“What did he say?” asked Barden.

“He said that there’s nothing he can do for me.” Ruk stood and brushed the dirt from the front of his pants. “I think I believe him.”

Barden crossed his arms. “Well, I think you’d better try again.”

“But I don’t know what he wants. Besides, he’s just a droid. What can he do?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Taking a few slow breaths, Ruk knelt a few feet away from the small droid. “R2-D2?”

Whirring softly, the droid turned his domed head to face Ruk.

“Something must have kept you from trying to leave Mustafar, and someone must have brought you here to begin with. You looked like you shouldn’t even have been functioning when I got here, and you could’ve pretended that you weren’t. But you knew I was a Skywalker.”

The droid was quiet.

“Voice recognition prints?”

The droid was quiet.

“R2,” said Ruk, sitting cross-legged on the cold, musty floor. “You were there when Anakin Skywalker became a Jedi, and you were there when he was consumed by his hatred and pain. You were there when Luke Skywalker embraced his destiny, and you were there when he rejected it. You were there when the galaxy was won by the light, and you were there when it was in flames.”

Ruk leaned forward. “R2-D2, you are the only one who knows the whole story. No other being in the galaxy has been a witness to so much history. If you can help me find some way to fight the Mandalorians, then I need you. Please, do it for the galaxy, if not for my ancestors.”

R2’s body swiveled until he was directly opposite of Ruk. Tweeting slowly, his servos whirred as he rolled closer to the young man.

“What did he say?” whispered Barden.

“He said he has something to show me.”

With a crackle of static, two blue lights fluttered on R2’s chest. He chirped impatiently while the lights grew more constant, their projection growing in magnitude and intensity until a faint blue light illuminated the metal room.

“He’s going to show us a hologram,” said Ruk, his voice barely touching his own eardrums. His heart pounded.

The blue light pulsed and grew into a sold image. The image was of a woman, her face sad and her hands worn, a faint smile on her lips. And there was a young boy, no older than ten, dressed in simple clothes, his hair cropped in the plain style adopted by farmers and poorer craftsmen. But Barden wasn’t looking at the woman. Barden wasn’t looking at the child. Barden was looking at the boy’s eyes.

They were Ruk’s eyes.

“Will I ever see you again?”

The woman smiled sadly. “What does your heart tell you?”

The boy lowered his gaze, his eyes uncertain.

“I think so. Yes.”

“Then we will see each other again.”

“I will come back and free you, Mom. I promise.”

She touched his cheek. “Now be brave, and don’t look back. Don’t look back.”

The imaged expanded, shrank, and faded, only to be replaced by another one. Barden’s mouth twitched slightly, and his eyes began to burn. He didn’t notice the tears that dripped slowly into his beard.

There was a young man of average height and build, a long, thin braid extending down the front of his tunic. His features were kind, but his smile was tinged with a deep weariness.

“Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The two shook hands.

“You’re a Jedi, too? Pleased to meet you.”

Another flutter and another image.

An older Jedi lay dying, his hand, so strong and true not moments before, weakly stretching toward his apprentice.

“Promise me…promise me you’ll train the boy…”

“Yes, Master,” the young man said, his voice strong but wavering.

“He is the Chosen One…He will bring balance…”

Barden looked at Ruk. The young man was immobile, his right fist clenched in his lap. The images came and went, faded and imploded, grew and pulsed with a life and an intensity of their own. And the two men watched, only the flickering of their eyes and the rising and falling of their chests betraying their existence.

A pure love that endured when it should have died, a man whose dreams were outlasted by his eternal enslavement, a hero consumed by the failures of the man he loved like brother and a son.

And then a young boy who wished for a life greater than his own, only to find that his inner goodness was far more powerful than anyone could have imagined. The evil of the darkest of hatreds, the pain of a galaxy in turmoil, a princess with a heart of gold and a tongue like steel daggers, and a smuggler whose internal purity was mired by the sorrow of his past.

And then the return of the Sith, the Vong, the Second Galactic Civil War, the fires that lit the halls of the Jedi Temple, an unknown darkness, the darkness made real, the death of another galaxy. And its birth.

“I’m Lor Skywalker.”

“My father,” breathed Ruk.

“Hi Ruk,” the image of his father said, his smile mirroring that of his son. “And hello to you, too, Barden Kenobi.”

Barden was silent. There was nothing to say.

“By now, a few very important things have happened to the galaxy. For one, I’m dead, which is a tragedy in and of itself.”

“He sounds like you,” Barden said softly.

Ruk nodded.

“But the Mandos didn’t win control of the Archives. That is absolutely vital. You know the problems those bucket heads cause when they go on one of their little ‘we’re gonna take over the galaxy’ sprees. A mess. One I really don’t relish cleaning up. But, it’s part of the job description. And I think the robes and the lightsaber are well worth the price.

“You’ve both just witnessed about a thousand years of galactic history. A thousand years. Emperor’s black bones, that’s a long time. Through this little droid, you’ve gained possession of information that was thought to be lost forever, events that were misplaced or destroyed in the chaos of time.

“This R2 unit has been waiting to tell his story. That’s his purpose, and that’s why he was put here many galactic rotations ago. It was a Skywalker who put him here, but nobody knows which one. A lot of people think there are too many of us walking around the galaxy as it is.

“R2-D2…He’s a feisty one. Don’t try to understand him. He’s his own little being, that’s for sure. He’s got his own reasons.

“Well, gentlemen, that’s all I can tell you. It’s up to you to decide what you do with what you have learned. Ruk, give my love to your sister and mother. Barden, you foolhardy old man…Thank you. For everything. May the Force be with you both.”

Ruk didn’t notice when the image faded. His eyes were closed, and his hand gripped the fabric of his tunic.

Barden left the room and stood outside in the oppressive heat. He sank to the ground, his head in his hands.

----------------

Ruk emerged sometime later, his krayt skin pack slung over one shoulder, a cocksure grin plastered to his face. “You all right, old man?”

Barden smiled. “I’m fine. Where’s R2?”

Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, Ruk said, “He wanted to stay behind. Something about not being finished yet.”

“Yes.” A frown creased Barden’s forehead and he stood slowly, his backpack rasping across the metal floor.

“You sure you’re all right?” asked Ruk.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Me neither.” Ruk raised his eyes to the horizon, lifting one hand to shield them from the repressive light. “When do you think we’ll find out?”

“You know,” said Barden, “I don’t think we will.”

“Yeah.” The two were silent for a moment. “R2 told me something before I left.”

“What did he say?”

“Something Anakin Skywalker told him, many years ago.”

“What’s that?”

Ruk grinned, clapping Barden on one shoulder. “This is where the fun begins.”

For a moment, Barden stared at Ruk, his mind uncomprehending, his heart confused, feeling as if someone had torn out his nerves and replaced them with something colder than ice. Then he smiled, and the smile grew wider. And Barden Kenobi threw his head back and laughed.

----------------

1123 ABY

Tor Skywalker knelt by the droid, placing his calloused hand on its wide dome. Running his fingers over the tarnished metal, he spoke to it in soft undertones until it emitted a short tweet, lights flashing with a kind of untainted joy unrivaled by any being of flesh. It spun in a circle, servo motors whirring in protest at the activity, and lights began to play over its faded blue and white surface.

“What did he say?” asked Mariah Kenobi.

“He said he has something to show me.”


HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

From Malastare to Tatooine,
And Endor to Naboo,
Happy birthday, ESB,
Your faithful droid, Artoo!


ADDENDUM

I was negative thirteen years old when Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back was first released. With that pretext, I hope I can justify my inability to see it on the big screen. Really, I would’ve loved it, but circumstances demanded my presence elsewhere. Someday I’ll tell you all about it, I promise.

The Empire Strikes Back is not my favorite Star Wars film. It’s not my second favorite. Or my third. Or my fifth. Or my sixth. (All right, all right, I know you want to know: Revenge of the Sith, Return of the Jedi, Attack of the Clones, The Empire Strikes Back, A New Hope, and The Phantom Menace. Yes, I’m a product of my technology-soaked and unambiguously shallow generation. I can’t help it.) Similarly, R2 is not my favorite Star Wars character. Or my second. Or my third. Or my fourth. Or my fifth. Or my sixth. Or my-- You get the idea.

Despite all this adversity, despite all this pain, despite all this anguish…I had an awesome time with this fan fic. I mean, truly I did. It took a lot of adversity, pain, and anguish to write it, as Robin and Granny will testify on the witness stand, but “slowly wheels turned round and round, and cogs began to grind and pound.” (Sorry, my little sister’s class is doing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for their spring play, and I wrote the script and have been going over there once in a while to direct. At least I finally stopped saying “Let’s boogie.”) And once those wheels started turning and the cogs started grinding and pounding (and I wince just thinking about it), it flowed like Corellian ale at a Rogue Squadron reunion. So it was immensely fun. I really loved it. It almost killed me, but I really loved it.

I have the option to go on and describe just how profoundly I have been moved by our Saga, but words just don’t do it. So I’m going to cut it short in a minute; then you can scurry away and read whatever else we ended up with on this day that seemed to take forever to get here. I just need to sneak in a quick thank you to a couple of people who made this delightful crap possible.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First off, thank you, Grand Master, for organizing yet another one of these absolutely insane blog challenges. And thank you for driving me insane every time I give you half the chance.

Thank you, Granny, for listening to me brainstorm, brag, whine, protest, mouth off, bawl, deliberate, and dissect through this whole adventure, and through just about every other adventure.

Thank you, everybody who participated, for...uh...participating in this...um...participation.

Thank you, Annabeth Skywalker, my little sister, for tolerating me as I read this thing to you ten billion times. And I know you’re not going to read this for another two or three years, so I’ll say this now, so I can have it on record -- I told you Davy Jones was coming back. Did you actually think they were going to throw a character like that to a stranger tide? (pun intended)

Last but unquestionably not least, thank the Maker for the GFFA!

FINAL THOUGHTS

And what did I learn from this blog challenge, you ask? To Ruk Skywalker's father, you listen: "This R2 unit has been waiting to tell his story...Don’t try to understand him...He’s got his own reasons."

Happy Birthday ESB From Wes Janson!

Go put in your ESB soundtrack. Forward it to “Battle in the Snow”. Go on, I’ll wait. Got it?

In this scene in Empire Strikes back, there is a little known hero…no, not Dak, he dies pretty quick, poor guy. I’m talking about Wes Janson. We didn’t even know he had a first name at that time, but he was a major player in the snowspeeder battle against the Imperial walkers.

He was Wedge’s gunner in the snowspeeder, you know, the guy who sit’s backwards. It’s hard enough to have to shoot at things when you’re going so fast, but to have to do it flying backwards? Don’t you know he had to have had a stomach of steel? “I can’t set that harpoon yet, Wedge, I gotta hurl…” I imagine he had to have been looking at a monitor, too, in addition to taking his cues from his pilot (Wedge) and sitting with his back to the action. That takes some good coordination!!

While it was Luke’s idea to use the harpoons and tow cables, it was Wedge and Janson who were successful on their first attempt at tripping the huge metal beast. After making three or four passes around the legs of the walker, he detached the cable and the walker came down. I think I’m with Wedge in saying, “Good shot, Janson!” He was one of the characters to me that deserved just a little bit more credit, and a little bit more face time in the movie.

This was one of the scenes that made Empire Strikes Back classic Star Wars! ESB has been going strong for 30 years, and it’s my absolute favorite out of the whole Saga. Happy 30th Birthday, ESB…you will remain ageless forever!

Here’s to many, many more years of enjoyment! **clink**

MTFBWY

GB

Happy Birthday ESB from Carlist Rieekan

Beyond the glory of the leaders behind all the big decisions of political leaders, are the leaders of the rest the advisers to the politicians the generals. Generals are of a unique position. Somewhere between the run of the mill military operations and obligations and lurking just in the political curtain. Vying for things they and/or their troops need in order to achieve their goals.

A player, general Carlist Rieekan worked very hard to maintain this balance in the chaotic circle that was the rebellion. Ever vigilant and ever practical, Rieekan's keen ability to play the line led him to renown victories both on and off the battlefield.

Best know for his brilliant evacuation and battle strategy at Echo Base on the planet Hoth,in which he was able to get almost all safely out of danger, Rieekan was just seventeen when he entered in to a lifetime military career. A surviving member of the destroyed planet Alderaan, Rieekan was off planet at the time of the attack, encompassed in an evacuation effort. He then joined the Alliance as a line officer.

Hoth was not Rieekan's only evacuation success. Tiems, and Dankayo are also among his list of successes.

Such previous experience lead Rieekan to almost be fated to be the commander of Echo Base. His previous experience was a huge factor, which is why so many were able to escape. If this had gone any differently, I am positive that there would have been far more casualties then as it turned out, possibly involving a main charater.

While the main idea and storyline of ESB is about growth and how to take setbacks, it takes strong supporters and leaders to help the main characters along in their journey and the whole story's journey as a whole. If only one person or group had all the answers, all the tools, and could fix everything at the drop of a hat, there would be no place for anyone else. Leaders like Rieekan gave me a feeling of depth to the world and the things that were taking place. It was not just in some small bubble, it was a vast conflict that affected everyone of every kind and personality.

Of the short amount of time we get to see Carlist Rieekan, we are lucky enough to see him at his military best, most vulnerable and his worst, in a way. We see his wonderful Echo Base beautifly carved and maintained, his best at strategy, maintaining order and calm, and well as his vulnerability, at having to shut out Han Solo and wait to send out a search party, and the look in his eye and the sound of his voice when he realizes that in order to continue the alliance, they must all evacuate.

I see nothing is this man's charater that should change. he is caring, a lover of peace, but someone who also understands that there are some cases where one MUST fight on order to keep any chance or hope pf peace alive. If there were more people like this man in our military, our government today, the world very well could be a different place.

So, we say a happy borthday to a fine leader and to all his accomplishments, both before, during and after the pivotal Battle of Hoth in The Empire Strikes Back.

Part 2 - Kashyyyk ~ Chapter 2: The Surface of the Abyss

“A Wookiee.”

The Wookiee immediately began to emit a series of complicated, guttural cries, yelps and howls as if to punctuate that two-word sentence.

“He understands Basic,” said Gidrea.

“Oh,” said Renora. “Oh. Sorry.”

“He’s the old friend I was telling you about, Padawan,” Gidrea said, letting a tinge of annoyance creep into her voice.

“He must not be that old of a friend, because I don’t remember befriending him.”

“His name is Chewbacca.”

“Oh!” This particular monosyllable was pronounced with greater enthusiasm than the other two. “Then he is an old friend. A friend of the Alliance.”

Chewie bellowed from deep within his furry torso, gesturing around him.

“What’s he doing on Kashyyyk?” asked Renora.

“As you so brilliantly pointed out, he’s a Wookiee,” answered Gidrea. Renora glanced at her quizzically. Her Master’s typical good humor seemed to have soured like the remnants of an overripe fruit in the sun.

“Yeah, and I’m a human. I’m not on Coruscant, or wherever scientists think humans originated from this week.”

“Yes, well, he’s the Rebel Alliance’s Wookiee liaison for this particular mission.”

“Which you still haven’t told me about. And which must be quite a killer judging by the way you’re about to have a baby bantha here.”

Gidrea didn’t even crack a smile. Her eyes seemed very dark within the shifting, multihued shadows of her cloak’s hood.

“Patience, Padawan. Not yet.”

=========================

It was an ordinary cliff, extraordinary only in its moderate elevation and abrupt, almost obscene incline with small tufts of dust wafting slowly up and down its surface. Renora had seen a million similar precipices before, in a dozen different varieties -- rock, dirt, snow, mud, packed soil, rutted sand, white water.

“We’re going to climb it, aren’t we?” asked Renora, feeling the color draining from her face, and with it, her nerve. “It’s steep. Really, really steep. If we fall, it’ll hurt.”

Gidrea said nothing. Sighing deeply, the echoes of a weariness Renora had never before detected in her Master almost palpable in that racking breath, Giddy sat down on a massive, aged, time-polished stone.

“Why don’t we just grab the ship and fly over it? Isn’t that what a ship is for? Flying over something that no civilized being would ever even glance at without feeling like they’re about to take a long drop with a sudden stop?”

Chewie growled a question, tilting his head to one side inquisitively.

“No, Chewie, I haven’t told her yet.”

Running a hand through her short hair, Renora sat down roughly on a patch of trampled, overgrown underbrush. “Kriff. It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Worse,” said Master Lightksy. “We can’t take the ship because if we do, the Imperials will detect us.”

“But there aren’t any Imperials on this part of Kashyyyk. They only congregate near the settlements so they can keep track of their slaving enterprises.”

Giddy nodded approvingly. “So you did read the data pad I gave you.”

“What did you think I was going to do with it, eat it?”

“You’re more likely to eat your work than to actually do it.” Gidrea chuckled at her weak joke. “But you’re wrong, Padawan. There are Imperials on this part of Kashyyyk. About two thousand klicks north of here, actually.”

“Two thousand clicks? They could be on us in just under an hour,” said Renora, leaping to her feet as if she had sat on a stormtrooper.

“Yes, but they won’t come after us. They have something else in mind.”

“Is this the something else you haven’t told me about?”

“It is.” Giddy sighed again. “A crystal. A crystal imbued with dark side energy. A nexus of dark power that’s capable of harnessing and channeling the Force, and warping every living thing around it.”

Renora gave a low whistle. “I don’t believe this. You’ve been reading my holo-comics. They’re giving you bad dreams.”

Giddy laughed. “I wish it were all a bad dream. But it isn’t.”

“And the crystal’s on the other side of that…that…monstrosity there?”

“Yep.”

Renora blinked as if she had just awakened from a deep sleep. “This crystal…it’s full of dark side energy, right?”

Gidrea nodded.

“So it must be broadcasting like a great, big, purple neon sign that screams ‘Hey!! Dark side!! Right here!! Tall, dark, and really evil!!!’ Right?”

Gidrea nodded.

“Uh huh. And that’s why you’ve been so on edge for the entire mission.”

“Yes.”

“You mean it wasn’t because of me? I’m wounded.” Renora smiled thinly, but neither of them laughed. Renora noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Chewbacca had his bowcaster tightly gripped between his large hands.

“Here we have a big, purple, neon rock--”

“It’s blue, actually,” interrupted Gidrea.

Renora shrugged. “Blue, purple, same thing. We have a big, blue, neon rock, just busting with dark side goodness, that anyone with the Force sensitivity of a drunk Gamorrean should have been able to pick up before we hit dirtside. Right?”

“Just about.”

“Okay, good. One problem, though. I couldn’t sense it.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. Why couldn’t I sense it, Master? Why can’t I sense it?”

“Because.” Giddy hesitated. Renora couldn’t remember ever seeing her Master hesitate. “Because of the darkness you carry with you, Padawan.”

“The darkness I carry with me? What’s that supposed to mean?” Renora paced back and forth, her hand opening and closing on the hilt of her lightsaber. “And no ‘certain point of view’ stuff, please, Master.”

Giddy’s voice was very quiet. “It means that if we’re not extremely careful, you’ll be utterly consumed by the dark side of the Force in under 24 hours.”

“Okay,” said Renora, her face and voice impassive. “Okay. What’s the alternative?”

“You’ll be dead.”

Giddy and Renora’s eyes went wide as Chewbacca whipped his bowcaster towards the cliff and rumbled menacingly, his mattered hair ruffled by a slight breeze.

“Well, at least I can still sense something,” said Renora. “We have company.”

Part 2 - Kashyyyk ~ Chapter 1: Non-Fiction

Chapter 1: Non-Fiction

Believe it or not, Renora considered herself an amateur poet. Of course, in this instance, the word “amateur” takes the meaning “not professional,” rather than “inept,” or “unskilled,” or “unpolished.” In her very few, very scattered, very coveted instances of solitude, Renora liked to keep her mental faculties in a relative state of preservation by composing short poems in her head. The most relevant example would be her latest literary concoction, a loosely fashioned limerick.

Nexus are far worse than Acklay and Reek
And the Sarlaac pit is worse than a Teek
But nothing I’ve seen
Has been quite so mean
As this green planet that they call Kashyyyk

This particular piece of poetry happened to be non-fiction.

“Have I told you how much I hate Kashyyyk?” said Renora, half-tripping, half-stepping over a large, rotting tree trunk.

“In the last five minutes? No, I don’t think so.”

“I managed to go a whole five minutes without saying something? I think I’m impressed,” Renora grinned.

“No, you’ve said something. Several somethings, actually.”

“I’m sure you didn’t hear a word I was saying,” muttered Renora, sullen again.

“How sure?” said Gidrea, momentarily distracted as she checked her wrist chrono and lifted her arm to the sun.

“We have about five hours of daylight left. I already calculated it.”

“How long ago did you calculate it?”

Renora glanced down at her mud-speckled boots. “When we left the ship.”

“In other words, two hours ago.”

“Yeah, in other words.”

“And five minus two is what, my mathematically challenged apprentice?”

“It depends on whether we’re speaking quantitively or theoretically,” shrugged Renora, smiling deviously.

Giddy sighed, sitting on a crooked, sunken stump that looked as if it had been anchored with decaying roots to the same spot for the last three thousand years. She smoothed her robes over its inexplicably clean surface. Renora glanced around her, searching for a similarly unblemished place to seat her filthy frame. She couldn’t find one.

“I think the only time you’re happy is when you’re controlling a conversation,” said Master Giddy.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” asked Renora, her expression a study in indignant irritation.

“You’re right, that was unfair. You’re also happy when you’re complaining about something that you don’t want to be doing.”

“Master, what has you on edge?” probed Renora, growing concerned. “Besides me.”

Taking a long drink from her water bottle, Gidrea sighed again. “The mission.”

“Which you haven’t told me anything about, I’ve noticed.”

“Nice to see you putting those noticing skills to good use,” said Giddy, a faint ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Could you tell me something about the mission? And what about the old friend we’re going to meet?”

Giddy nodded. “Sit down.”

“Um,” Renora looked around once more, “I would, but I can’t find anywhere to sit.”

“Did you look for one?”

“Yes, and everything’s covered in muddy dirt. Or dirty mud. Or both.”

“And you’re not?” chuckled Giddy.

“No need to make matters worse,” said Renora, crossing her arms. “You taught me that it can always be worse. Just because it can be doesn’t mean it should be.”

“When you were noticing things, did you happen to notice that I found a clean place to sit?”

“Yeah, I did notice that.”

“And you didn’t ask how I did it.”

“So there’s some Force technique for cleaning three-thousand-year-old mud?”

“That’s why I’m not going to tell you about the mission. Yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because you need to learn patience. You’re so fixed on one thing that you don’t notice anything else.”

“I do notice things, Master. I just…don’t always…”

“Notice that you’re noticing them?” Giddy nodded. “Understandable.”

“Understandable?” piped Renora, suddenly hopeful. “You mean, it’s not uncommon?”

“No, it’s not uncommon. Just about every Padawan goes through it at least once in their training.” Gidrea paused for a moment. “Now that you understand it, move through it.”

“You mean ‘get over it.’”

“Basically.”

Renora opened and closed her mouth a few uncomfortable times, several rejoinders that were smothered in satisfying snippyness crossing through her mind but failing to reach her tongue. “Yes, Master,” she finally bit out, her voice strained. “I’ll figure it all out.”

Gidrea laughed, leaping to her feet with startling agility. “No need to try and figure it all out, Padawan. Just what matters at this moment! Don’t give yourself a bigger headache than you give me.”

Troublemakers