Chapter Seventeen

The Happy Contriver seemed motionless as the disturbing sight of the hyperspace tunnel warped violently around them. It appeared as a long tube, which was a little wider than the vessel, terminating in the distance in a point of light that seemed to spew out the garish blue and black colours, like mixed ink, that swept past the cockpit. Skeet had seen this once before, and even now it hurt his head to look at it for too long.

He walked from the cockpit and deposited himself in the lounge area, on a small couch that seemed to flow from the wall. He sighed heavily and placed one leg on the seat.

“I heard a bang in the cargo area as we blasted off,” Emag said as he entered the room with a steaming cup of some brown liquid. “Did you secure your bike properly?”

“I’ll check it in a minute,” Skeet said hoarsely, taking the proffered cup and sipping at it, grimacing at the taste but drinking it all the same. Emag looked at him, realising that his mind wasn’t on the state of his vehicle. The ship hummed around them, the odd bleep or whistle sounding from the forward compartments.

“It’ll take a long time to get to Tatooine,” Emag said. “You’ll have plenty of time to fix it up. I saw a covered speeder in there, Skeet. Was that...?”

“Why did Brey do what he did?” Skeet said suddenly.

“I’m not sure,” Emag said truthfully. “He probably saw no other way out, knew we had to escape and he was almost done for. What he did was a noble thing. It was...”

“The will of the Force?” Skeet snapped. “If it was I don’t think I’m too impressed with it at the moment.”

Emag could see that his nephew was tired, upset, hurt. The initial shock of losing his new friend had been replaced by sorrow and now anger. He hadn’t had time to go over the events of the last day. The initial thrill of winning his first race, the shock of the bike theft, the anger at the Hutt, the revelation of his father, his uncle, and now the flight from Junduk and the death of Brey Yard. It was more than the average person could cope with.

And now this dark Force user, this nightmare that Emag had tried to imagine a thousand times but never could.

“So that was the prediction of the Dark Side,” Skeet said. “We ran from it.”

“You saw what it did,” Emag said, “What it’s capable of. What else could we do? With the combined strength of it and the Empire...”

“It killed those Stormtroopers, destroyed those TIE fighters. Helped us escape...”

“No, helped you escape. Like you said, it wants you. It wouldn’t have had you if you were killed, now, would it?”

Skeet shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But why does it want me?”

“I never got the chance to explain further when we were talking in my house. From what I gather from my father the dark Force user is a threat, a shadow from a millennia ago. It has, for one reason or another, come out of hiding.”

“It said come to your new master. Offered me a lightsabre. If it is as old as you say, then maybe it’s decided its time to pass on its knowledge.”

“That’s very intuitive.”

Skeet slammed the cup onto the table that was before him.

“I don’t want to think about it.”

With a deep groan Emag stood up.

“But you’ll have to think about it, Skeet. This isn’t over.” He started to walk from the lounge and to the rear of the ship. He had figured out that Skeet wasn’t in a very responsive mood and he decided to leave the conversation for later.

But Skeet wanted to know more, had to talk to take that vision of Brey’s pumping fist and the ensuing fireball out of his mind.

“Why didn’t the Jedi Council at the time do something about it?” he demanded.

Emag stopped by the exit hatch.

“Because for some reason or another the information of who this creature might be and where he came from was wiped from the official records. They started investigating but years later there was already too much for the Jedi Council to handle. Valorum had been forced out of office; Palpatine had been inaugurated as Supreme Chancellor. Things were changing, and after Palpatine declared himself Emperor and the New Order arose there wasn’t anyone left to search him out.”

“I’m being hunted by nothing,” Skeet whispered. “No-one knows anything?”

“The only one who came close was Hutos-Qui-Lan, and she was killed for what she knew. I’m sorry, Skeet. My father told me very little because he was afraid of what it might mean for the future of our family. When I grew up I knew I had to find out what it all meant, so I travelled to Junduk and settled on Raca City.” He huffed a sarcastic smile. “In fact, you could say I got a little too settled.”

“I’m sorry,” Skeet said, the urge to apologise overwhelming. He felt as though he his presence on the planet had sparked off this entire sequence of events. “For the city, for Brey, for the Hutt... for everything.”

“Believe me, Skeet,” Emag said, rubbing his half-metal jaw thoughtfully and leaving the room, “the death of Komag the Hutt isn’t something you should apologise about.”

As Emag walked out Eilen walked in, pulling back her long white hair and wrapping it around itself until it hung down her back in a rough tail.

“Everything’s fine, the ship doesn’t seem damaged by all the fun. Where’s Emag?” Skeet pointed to the exit hatch.

“Well,” she continued, “it’ll be a while but this ship is in good order. Old, but in good order. Here,” she handed the wallet that had contained the vessel’s passcards to Skeet. “There’s something in there I think you’ll want.”

Skeet took the pouch and Eilen walked over to the drink dispenser.

Skeet slowly opened the pouch and thin silver datacard fell from it. He picked it up, pressed the activation pad and watched as the thin material flowed and warped, like oil on water, to make a series of words.

The Tatooine Ten Thousand. You have been selected as one of fifty racers who stand a chance of completing this gruelling race, and the pad scrolled on to reveal vehicle requirements, rules, of which there were not many, and entry conditions. It especially underlined the secrecy of the race, the reason being that all the betting was almost exclusively between the Hutts and unwanted attention from official channels, especially that of the Empire, was something the racer could be severely punished for if they revealed the existence of the race.

Brey’s voice rang in Skeet’s ears.

Do it.

He looked up at Eilen, suddenly needing conformation of something he already knew.

“Brey was a brave man, wasn’t he?” he asked.

Eilen nodded sadly.

“And he saved our lives, thank the Force.”

“Yeah, sure,” Skeet murmured as he pulled a face. “The Force.”

The ship flew on through the hyperspace route. Skeet whiled away the time checking his bike, changing his clothes and making sure he wasn’t too badly hurt from his ordeal. There was little conversation between the three, Skeet wanting to be left alone with his thoughts and Emag trying to guess at what damage might have been caused to his city. Eilen kept watch over the ships systems, and several times had to respond to alarm calls that weren’t as serious as they sounded but which even she didn’t understand. Several times Skeet heard her mutter, “What the hell has Brey done to this ship?” whilst she worked down cramped accessways.

As Skeet pulled the broken throttle beam generator from his speeder he glanced over at the covered speeder that was obviously the one that Brey had modified for the race. At first he left it alone, feeling that somehow he would be offending the spirit of Brey if he uncovered it. As the long journey progressed, he decided that Brey had wanted him to run this race and this vehicle was what was going to help him win it.

Pretty damned confident aren’t you? Skeet thought to himself as he threw back the cover.

The speeder was as ugly as they came. Brey had dug up an old Mobquet from somewhere, reconditioned the body and overhauled the triple engine assembly. There was an oversized power generation unit for extended use, a shielded container for extra power cells, a retro-fitted canopy that would fold over on hot days, seal tight on cold nights. Water recycle unit, heat control, all manner of items and modifications to last the long journey through the harsh landscape of Tatooine.

Skeet leaned in and activated the engine, just to get an idea of the power output. He closed his eyes as the power core whined into life, the level tone of the engine indicating to Skeet that Brey had tuned it perfectly.

“This is perfect,” Skeet said.

“Thank you very much.”

He jumped back at the sudden voice, which emanate from the speeder itself. Even so, he did a quick spin to be sure that there was no one else in the room with him. He stepped over to see what appeared to be a box, a ‘droid brain containment unit, plugged into the crafts primary control circuits.

“Good day to you, sir,” the speeder said. “I am N-8MA, the Mobquet landspeeder you see before you. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Skeet smiled, watching as single photoreceptor swivelled from the box and locked onto him. He gave a small nervous wave.

“Er... hello.”

“I quite understand your confusion, sir. Master Brey Yard had me inserted, at much cost, to manage the onboard systems of this landspeeder whilst he concentrated on the race.”

“You can fly this thing?”

“Alas, no, I am not connected to the speeder’s drive or control systems. I merely manage power output and inform the pilot of any problems that arise.”

Skeet beamed.

“Brey, you old racing pirate! This is great!”

“Talking of Master Yard, where is he?” the ‘droid asked.

“I’m sorry, Enneight,” Skeet said, leaning against the fuselage. “I’m afraid your master is... well, he had a crash... I’m afraid he didn’t survive.”

“I understand. I take it that you are my new master?”

“I’m afraid so,” Skeet said, patting the photoreceptor.