1Short chapter...this probably won't get finished. mindtrick You will read my OFs!
Brendon Kale scratched at a sharp-edged grain of sand near his neck, wishing there were some way to dispel the nagging, cloying, Sith-cursed dry heat. Master Thrait stood in the shade near the cargo ramp of the hulking Dowager Queen, seemingly unconcerned with the heat, directing orders, here to a droid, there to a jumpsuit-clad worker. Brendon had squeezed himself into the tiny shade slanting between the enormous ramp and a crate, which he had sat himself on to take the ache out of his legs. Even with the Force this work was tiring–there were three pre-fab shelters up, seemingly a thousand to go.
In front of him where the first shelters were outlining what would be the main street of a village spidery droids tugged at supports and another shelter bloomed into shape, now a lumpy polygon, now a rectangle, now doors and windows coalescing out of the permeable material the thing was fashioned from. There wasn't much work for the Padawan to do, at least not yet. He felt uncharacteristically moody, almost angry at the universe, under the bright-burning suns. He had had friends at the Temple, good people with whom he could share his dynamic feelings when the Force and the Code could not wash them away. But here there was just Master Thrait, who would never listen if Brendon told him that he thought his plans were stupid.
Brendon kicked up a flurry of sand and watched it plume then hopelessly fall back into the anonymity of the ground.
With a ratcheting sound, the dark metal burrower scope dug itself out of sight under the tan sand. Wura M'kasipushed a small white flag into the ground next to the hole it left behind and wiped beads of sweat off her forehead. She was a young Duros; this Tatoo system colony was her first job as a planetary geologist. It would be she who discovered whatever valuable material this planet could offer.
Wura straightened up and pushed the sleeves of her flightsuit back, baring green-black muscled arms shining with sun repellant. White flags dotted about around her marked burrower sites all along the sand. The main colony was only on the other side of a rise; talking in numerous languages and machine noises ruined solitude. This was better than the ship, where there was no quiet at all, people all crowded together for weeks. Wura didn't like people; she preferred rocks.
The job of placing the burrowers done, Wura began back up the hill of sand. Each foot sank in a little way.
We should have brought twice as much water. She thought. I myself could drink all those tanks they brought out of the ship.
The toe of her boot hit against something hard, her center of gravity was off and she fell forward. Her hands buried to the wrists in the sand and burned and Wura yanked them out and shook them, wincing, then looked down at the little hard thing.
It was like a planet, but more probably an animal. Five or six green and red tentacles surrounded a rough mouth-like base in the sand, the tentacles waving slightly. Wura hesitantly picked the thing up by a tentacle. It didn't seem to notice. Joice, her xenobiologist friend, might find this interesting.