Adventure in Mos Eisley, Part II

The sound of Artoo’s excited whistles and clicks were more than enough to draw Threepio’s attention away from the cantina’s front entrance; he’d been standing there, pacing nervously, on the verge of panic, ever since the small squad of stormtroopers entered the noisy little establishment.

“Oh, there you are!” Threepio exclaimed, obviously quite relieved, as he turned and saw Anakin trot quickly around from behind the old, weathered building.

“I was beginning to think you’d all been captured,” Threepio sighed, as Anakin trotted up and seized him quickly by the left arm. “When Artoo and I saw those stormtroopers, we were sure that...”

“We almost were,” Anakin nodded, tossing a wary glance back to the cantina’s entrance as he tugged his old droid toward the alley he’d just come from. “So we need to move, and we need to move now, you two,” he said, as he tugged Threepio along into the shadowy alley, with Artoo rolling along ahead of him.

Obi-Wan and Luke were both waiting there, and, as Anakin and the droids approached, Obi-Wan tossed the hood of his cloak down onto his shoulders and took a few steps toward the main street. “Are there any more out there?” he asked, glancing down and watching Artoo roll past him as Anakin stepped up beside him.

Luke listened intently as his father nodded his head in reply. “Two squads for sure, maybe more,” Anakin sighed, as he pointed to the large, busy street to the north of the cantina. “One squad’s blocking the way out,” he added with a frown, as he pointed down the road to their east, “and the other’s down there, right between us and the docking bays.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan quipped, nodding his head, “at least our luck’s holding out.”

“Yeah,” Anakin sighed, the hint of a grin on his lips as he and Obi-Wan exchanged a wary glance. “Just like old times.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Luke shrugged, as his father ran the fingers of one hand through his shaggy hair and scratched his head for a moment. “Not only can we not get to the docking bay, but we’ve got to come up with two thousand credits for ‘Captain Marvelous’ back there,” he sighed, making little effort to hide his disdain for their new acquaintance.

“Well, the money’s not a problem,” Obi-Wan replied, reaching into the folds of his cloak; he rummaged through one of his pockets for a moment, and Anakin and Luke both watched, somewhat surprised, as the old Jedi dumped the shiny contents of a worn leather pouch into his weathered, calloused hand.

“Remember this?” Obi-Wan asked, as he and his old apprentice exchanged a grin.

“Is that... is that the rest of the money Bail gave you, back when we were...” Anakin stammered, an incredulous, shocked expression on his face as Obi-Wan closed his eyes and nodded his head.

“On Polis Massa, when you and I went looking for that ship, remember?” Obi-Wan grinned, as he carefully poured the shiny gold credits back into the bag and cinched it tight. “I thought we might need a little money along the way, somewhere,” he added, as Anakin grinned back at him. “So, I’ve done my part, my old friend,” Obi-Wan said, as he tucked the pouch back into his pocket. “Now it’s time for you to do yours.”

Anakin nodded his head, and glanced back out into the street. “Well, we’re definitely not going that way,” he sighed, as he saw the three troopers emerge from the cantina and make their way toward their comrades near the spaceports main entrance. He glanced back at the cantina’s entrance, as he suddenly saw a familiar figure emerge, and he watched quietly from the shadows as the large, hairy Wookie they’d met a few moments earlier begin to make his way down the street toward the hangars.

“Come on,” Anakin said, turning and gesturing toward the alley behind them. “Our new friend is on his way to the ship, so we need to get moving,” he nodded, as he started down the alley, with Luke, Obi-Wan and the droids on his heels. “We’ll see if we can find a way to the hangers around the back.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Governor Tarkin stood there, as still as a stone, watching the small group of TIE fighters that banked through the darkness of space and into one of the Death Star’s many hangars below him. He turned his eyes toward the nearby doorway, as it opened with a hiss.

“Report,” he said, simply and tersely, as the tall, pale skinned, white haired woman walked in and tossed the hood of her cloak down onto her shoulders.

“Nothing of value, at least not yet,” Darth Malak replied, quite flatly; she stepped up to the long, smooth conference table behind Tarkin, and began tugging the fingers of one glove methodically. “She’s a strong willed young woman,” she added, her steel-grey eyes reflecting her own impatience as she pulled the glove free, and then slapped it down hard on the table. “She’s fighting the mind probe admirably, regardless of the pain,” she said, cutting her cold eyes back to Tarkin as she removed her other glove and slapped it down on the table in like fashion.

Tarkin grimaced, his forehead wrinkling deeply as he saw the cold, silver, skeletal prosthesis where Kuro’s arm had once been, a device that had been neatly concealed by the dark glove that she had just removed.

“It may be a while until we can extract any useful information,” Malak added, taking a step or two toward him. “Assuming that she lives through it, of course.”

The white haired Sith regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. “Are you absolutely certain that she’s the one who has the information you’re looking for?”

Tarkin wasted no time in making his reply, nor did he mask his disdain for her question. “Absolutely,” he replied, quite coldly. “All of our intelligence has led me to her. I’m convinced that she’s not nearly as innocent as she claims to be.” He paused, his attention, along with Kuro’s, turning toward the door as it hissed open again.

“Forgive the intrusion, Governor,” the Imperial officer said crisply, pausing and bowing slightly toward both of them. “But the commander wanted to inform you that the final check out is complete,” he said, as Malak and Tarkin exchanged a quick glance. “All systems are operational. He requests to know what course we should set, sir,” the officer added, as Tarkin took a step or two toward the window.

Darth Malak watched him as he stood there quietly for a moment, and then turned to regard her once more, the look of disdain that had been on his face a moment before now replaced with a curious, somewhat amused grin. “Perhaps,” he said, lifting a finger up in front of his face, quite thoughtfully, “the young lady would respond to an alternative form of persuasion.”

“What do you mean?” Malak asked, her own expression betraying her curiosity.

“You say that she claims that she is Senator Organa’s daughter, correct?” he asked, snapping his eyes back to Malak’s inquisitive face.

“Yes,” Malak replied, nodding her head. “She claims that she was traveling to meet him, on some sort of diplomatic mission to Alderaan.”

Tarkin stared at her quietly for a moment, and then snapped his eyes back to the officer who stood quietly behind them, awaiting his orders. Darth Malak’s lips curled into an evil grin as she heard what he said next.

“I think it is time that we demonstrated the full destructive power of this station,” Tarkin said. “Set your course for Alderaan.”

“With pleasure,” the officer replied, and turning on his heels, he headed back through the door and made his way quickly to the command deck.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Han stood up from the table; he froze, however, as his eyes suddenly focused on the tip of the blaster pistol that appeared just inches from his face.

“Going somewhere, Solo?” the green skinned, large eyed fellow asked, cocking his head curiously as Han -- very slowly -- settled himself back down into the booth.

“Yes, Greedo,” Han sighed, nodding his head, a sarcastic, irritated expression on his face as he watched Greedo’s short, trunk-like nose twitch anxiously as he sat down across from him. “As a matter of fact,” Han continued, “I was just going to see your boss. Tell Jaba that I’ve got his money.”

Greedo snorted, and Han’s eyes focused on the tip of his blaster as his green-skinned adversary waved it at him. “It’s too late for that,” he said, in his own native tongue. “You should have paid him when you had the chance,” he added, eyeing the Correllian captain carefully as he sighed deeply, then leaned back in the booth, throwing one arm up onto the back of the padded seat behind him. “Jabba’s put a price on your head so large that every bounty hunter in the galaxy will be looking for you now,” Greedo continued, obviously quite pleased with himself. “I’m lucky that I’m the one who found you first.”

“Yeah, Greedo,” Han sighed, waving his right hand as he reclined in the booth, “but this time I’ve got the money.”

“If you give it to me,” Greedo replied, cocking his head curiously, “I might forget I found you.”

“I don’t have it with me,” Han sighed, with a roll of his eyes. “Tell Jabba that...”

Han turned his eyes back to Greedo again, his brow furrowing as the green skinned fellow’s tone grew agitated, his long proboscis twitching excitedly. “Jabba’s through with you,” he exclaimed, angrily. “He has no time for smugglers who drop their shipments at the first sign of an Imperial cruiser!”

“Look, Greedo,” Han replied, quite cooly, as he dropped his right hand to his thigh, rubbing his leg thoughtfully. “Even I get boarded sometimes. Do you really think I had a choice?”

Greedo snorted angrily, turning his head as his large eyes surveyed the large window near them; as he did, he failed to notice Han’s right hand, as it slipped down into the booth, out of Greedo’s view, and unsnapped the strap on the holster of Han’s blaster. “You can tell that to Jabba,” Greedo continued, eyeing Han angrily as he raised his weapon again. “He may only take your ship!”

Han’s fingers tightened around the grip of his blaster and, with a smooth, silent effort, he slipped the blaster out of it’s holster, resting it on the seat beside him as he leveled it at his accuser. “Over my dead body,” he growled, glaring back at Greedo with utter comtempt.

Han’s eyes never moved, never blinked, as Greedo laughed back at him, his long nose twitching with each hollow guffaw. “That’s the general idea,” he chuckled, raising his weapon and pointed it directly at Solo’s chest. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long, long time.”

“Yes, I’ll bet you have,” Han replied contemptuously, leaning foward and glaring at the green skinned alien; suddenly, before Greedo could respond, the corner where they sat lit up with a brilliant orange flash as Han pulled the trigger of his weapon, the blast exploding into Greedo’s chest. Seconds later, with a deep, guttural moan, he slumped lifelessly to the table, his weapon clattering to the floor beside him.

The noisy cantina was suddenly deathly silent; Han stood up, very slowly, and, through the haze and stench of the smoke that now filled the corner of the seedy establishment, he warily eyed the patrons that stared silently back at him. He glanced down, and he could see the greenish-blue blood that pooled on the table beneath Greedo’s now still body, and, reaching into his pocket with his free left hand, he started to make his way to the door.

“Sorry about the mess,” Han said, quite calmly, as he tossed a handful of coins to the bartender, who caught then and watched, in stunned silence, as, quietly holstering his pistol as he climbed the stairs, the tall, dark haired captain made his way up and out of the cantina.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Luke turned and motioned to the droids; they’d been following along behind him, with Obi-Wan bringing up the rear, as Anakin led them all through the dark maze of alleys and corridors that wound between the various buildings, storefronts, and hangars. “Come on,” he said, and then he turned and caught up to his father, who was waiting in the shadows of a large, well-worn and weathered awning at an obscure shop’s back entrance.

“So far so good,” Anakin sighed, glancing over to his son as the droids and Obi-Wan stepped up to join him. “The hangar we just passed was bay 92,” he nodded. “Just two more over and we should be right where we need to be.”

“I’m surprised we haven’t met up with any troopers yet,” Luke sighed, shaking his head as he looked back at Obi-Wan, who was standing close beside him as Anakin took a step forward and peered out into the narrow alley that lay ahead. “The alleys are the first place I would have looked, I can’t understand why...”

Luke looked up, just in time to see his father jerk his head back, just as the sound and flash of a blaster bolt surged past them and exploded into the adjacent wall, showering them with hot shards of duraplast.

“Damn,” Anakin cursed, blinking his eyes as his hands moving with lightning speed for the two weapons that hung at his sides beneath his cloak. “You just had to say something, didn’t you?” he sighed, as Artoo’s excited chatter filled the narrow corridor around them... along with the sound of approaching boots.

Luke looked down, just in time to see his father spin his two light sabers nimbly in his hands as the two brilliant white shafts of light burst forth with a smooth, electric hiss. “Stay here,” Anakin said firmly, and, before Luke or Obi-Wan could respond, he leapt out into the narrow passageway ahead of them.

The lead trooper never knew what hit him, as the saber in Anakin’s left hand neatly and quickly took his helmeted head from his body as the Jedi Knight sprang from the shadows into the alley. As the remaining five panicked and began to fire wildly, Anakin swung the saber in his right hand up smoothly, sending several bolts of brilliant orange plasma back into the chest of the one closest to him.

Unable to resist the urge to look, and with his heart pounding, Luke peered around the corner and watched, in stunned amazement, as the kind-hearted, peaceful man he’d known all of his life suddenly transformed into a weapon of precise, deadly accuracy.

Reaching into the Force, Anakin took several powerful steps forward and then, with a mighty leap, flung himself into the air and cartwheeled up and over the troopers, his sabers deflecting several blaster bolts in mid-air as the panicked troopers fired wildly at him. As his boots hit the sand, he dropped to one knee, instantly sensing the trooper that spun and fired point blank at him; as the bolt of energy passed harmless above his head, Anakin spun both of his sabers in unison, one to the left, and the other to the right.

It had been years, many years indeed, since Anakin’s sabers had faced anything other than his practice remotes. Yet, as he felt the Force flow through him, as powerfully as it had all those years ago, he couldn’t help but revel in the feeling of justice, in that same satisfaction that Padmé had felt hours before, when she had faced down those troopers with Shanda, as his two gleaming weapons took both of the trooper’s legs off at their knees, sending them collapsing to the sandy ground with screams of pain, and another pair of slashes silenced them... just as quickly.

“No more running,” Anakin said, very softly and calmly, as he brought the weapon in his left hand around and up in front of him, catching the brilliant orange bolt that surged toward him; he flicked his wrist, his blue eyes watching the bolt as it surged back with a bright gold flash, and struck the trooper that fired it squarely in the neck.

No longer able to control his own muscles, the trooper spun in agony as his finger squeezed the trigger of his blaster rifle and, as he spun and slumped toward the ground, the remaining trooper turned and watched, in horror, just as the muzzle of his comrade’s rifle fired point blank into the visor his helmet.

The whole fight had transpired in mere seconds; with the dark corridor around him now quiet and still, except the hum of his weapons, Anakin took a couple of steps toward his fallen adversaries, eyeing them quietly for a moment, and then stepped over the trooper that lay in the middle of the alley, and made his way quickly back to where his companions waited.

Luke watched, mesmerized, as his father’s weapons extinguished themselves with a smooth hiss as Anakin trotted back down the alley toward him. “Come on, we need to hurry,” Anakin said, returning his sabers to their holsters as quickly as he’d pulled them a few moments before. “We need to be on that ship before anyone finds these guys.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Obi-Wan replied, nodding his head; he grinned at Anakin, slyly, his eyes sparkling with a fire that hadn’t been there in many, many years, and his grin widened as he saw that same familiar fire sparkling back at him. “Your father was always quite adept at dealing with unexpected situations like that one,” he said, keenly aware of the expression of shocked admiration on Luke’s face as he turned and looked up at the venerable old Jedi. “It’s good to see that he hasn’t lost his touch,” he added, as, placing his hand on Luke’s shoulder and giving him a nudge, they all started off down the dark corridor ahead, with the droids following closely behind them.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The hooded, dark clad, large eyed figure leaned out from the shadows of the small alcove where he stood; he glanced down at the trooper's bodies that littered the narrow corridor, and then looked up, watching silently at the three figures who, with two droids in tow, disappeared into the shadows at the far end of the alley. He turned, and, reaching into his pocket, pulled out a small communications device and, glancing down the corridor once more, pressed the button and waited for a response.

Our story continues very shortly!