Chapter Eighteen

Skeet had hoped never to see this sight again, this view he was now experiencing as he stared from the cockpit window and onto the desolate planet below him.

He remembered leaving Tatooine with Rondosarn and staring back at the beige-coloured world he was leaving behind. That had hardly been a standard month ago and here he was, back already, feeling as though he had not fulfilled his dream and was returning with bowed head and downcast eyes to ask forgiveness from the desert planet for abandoning her. He shook the though out of his head and tapped Eilen on the shoulder.

She turned with a face contorted into a grimace and he knew that she was disappointed with his choice of destination. Tatooine was hardly a planet that welcomed visitors; hardly a place one would choose to go to. Its twin suns, Tatoo I and Tatoo II, shone brightly through the window and they squinted. Eilen tilted the ship slightly to increase the shade and then pointed the nose of the Happy Contriver at the atmosphere and began her descent.

Skeet handed her the pass for the Tatooine Ten Thousand and pointed at a series of numbers on the lower left of the thin datapad.

“Head for those co-ordinates,” he said. “That’s where we have to go.” He slid into the seat next to Eilen and made himself comfortable. Eilen spared him a quick glance as she eased the ship into Tatooine’s atmosphere and then turned back to her piloting. She had seen the look of worry and concern on her friend’s face.

“You haven’t told Emag, have you?” she asked.

Skeet looked at her.

“No, I haven’t.”

“He won’t approve of this,” she said.

“What is there to approve of?” Skeet shrugged off her words. “What’s he going to do?”

A strained silence filled the cockpit as Skeet turned to stare out the window as the curvature of the world seemed to flatten out the closer they got to the surface.

“Do about what?”

Eilen kept her eyes on their course but Skeet turned to face Emag, who stared at him with narrowed eyes. He checked the positioner system on the navigator’s board and saw that they were not headed for any of the settlements.

“Where are we going? Mos Eisley is not on this heading.” He affected the air of one that knew of a conspiracy but wanted to hear his suspicions from the mouths of the involved.

“We’re heading for an old Tusken fort,” Skeet said nervously, turning back to the view and clearing his throat.

“For the Ten Thousand,” Emag said simply and sat in a spare seat just behind Eilen.

Skeet knew he didn’t approve. He knew he also wouldn’t try to express a negative opinion or try to talk him out of it.

It was the silence that made Skeet nervous.

The ship came in low, blowing sand and dust in all directions, settling by the blasted Tusken fortress with over sixty other vessels spread out unevenly over a designated spot. Skeet stared out at the myriad of designs and sizes, dozens of ships from dozens of different shipyards, all with their own special style or personalised modifications.

The fortress was built into the side of a small lonely mountain, which rose from the rock in the middle of the plain. It appeared out of place, situated as it was, nowhere, with any other growths of stone to accompany it. The parapets of the fort were the rocks, the windows cut from rock and the great open door in its front was rock. The Tusken’s had apparently utilised this natural landmark well.

If it was Tusken. The desert people usually preferred the rocky cover of the Jundland Wastes, far to the west, and Skeet wasn’t sure if it was built by them. He turned his gaze away and looked over the other vessels.

There were other vehicles being removed from cargo bays, speeders of all designs like the starships they had been bought in. As Skeet walked down the ramp of the Happy Contriver he saw several speeders he didn’t recognise, designs so outrageous they were totally unrecognisable. Skeet wasn’t sure whether they were that way simply out of outlandish modification or whether their designers had been desperate for attention.

“I’ll drop the rear ramp,” Eilen announced and headed for the rear of the starship. Skeet waved a hand in dismissal, amazed as he was by the vehicles he was looking at. He hardly noticed Emag standing by him.

“Fantastic sight, isn’t it?” Emag whispered as he, too, scanned the scene with his narrowed eyes. The twin suns of Tatooine were hanging brightly in the sky, casting their yellow, scorching light upon the sandy ground. As the view of the ships became more clustered in the distance they shimmered from the heat-haze.

“Unbelievable. I think we arrived just in time for the race,” Skeet answered, overawed by the spectacle. “Look!” he suddenly exclaimed, pointing within the masses of machinery. “That idiot’s entering a speederbike!”

“You’ll get all sorts here,” Emag said, “thinking they can complete the course on their own machines, thinking they can make it in the fashion they’re accustomed too. Only fifteen percent of these racers will make it to the finish line. Thirty percent will probably never be heard of again. The others will be picked up by their teams, alive or dead. It won’t be easy for you.”

Skeet looked at Emag nervously.

“You’re not trying to talk me out of it. Why?”

“Would it do any good if I tried?” Emag said, a slight smile on his lips.

“But is this the will of the Force?” Skeet asked. “Is this part of the prophecy?”

It was the first time Skeet had seen Emag dismissive. He knew that he was under a lot of stress from the loss of his city and the devastation the appearance of Skeet must have bought him, but he was still a little shocked from Emag’s reaction as he said.

“How would I know?”

“I’m sorry, I...”

“I know what you’re thinking, Skeet, and I don’t need any Force powers to guess. You’re thinking ‘how can the Force help me to win?’ Well, that’s something you don’t want to think about. The Force doesn’t exist to help an individual or to serve the vanity of a single being. To use the Force for selfish reasons is to start on the path to the Dark Side. You saw that creature back in the landing bay of Raca City, what it did, how it felt to you. That is what happens to self-serving beings who utilise the Force for their own ends.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as they both watched the other racers before Skeet said, “So what do I do?”

“You just relax, be calm. Don’t get angry, especially now that you know what you may be capable of, and don’t be goaded into doing rash or evil acts.”

Skeet shrugged.

“But I’ve done nasty things before. Well, not nasty, but...”

“What you thought was nasty was probably nothing compared to what you may be forced to do out there, on the Ten Thousand course. Your mother would have taught you the difference between good and evil, I’m sure. She would have made sure you weren’t in danger of becoming a selfish, uncaring man.”

At the memory of his mother, at how all her teachings of calm and peace seemed to make so much sense to him now, Skeet nodded solemnly.

“I’m not doing this for myself, I think, Emag. I’m doing it for Brey.”

At the mention of their lost compatriot’s name, Emag placed a sympathetic arm around his nephew’s shoulders.

“I know, Skeet. I know.”

They were interrupted by Eilen who was standing on the lowered cargo ramp, shouting over to them.

“Hey! Help me with this talking speeder, willya?”

Emag turned to Skeet, confusion on his face.

“Talking?”

The incredible mass of racers, a myriad of aliens on a collection of speeders, started to amass in front of the fortress. Open-topped speeders, closed speeders, speeders with huge engine modifications or oversized power cores, speeders of garish paintwork, of stylistic design. The vehicles were as varied as the beings who piloted them, all with the same thought and intentions.

To win the Tatooine Ten Thousand.

In the throng of aliens Skeet thought he saw someone he recognised but the figure was soon swallowed up by the crowds. He was piloting Enneight alongside other racers who watched him warily, trying to ascertain what modifications this particular speeder had on it. Many of the vehicles around Skeet were heavily and obviously modified, some a lot more subtle than others, but he also noticed how some of them were armed with light laser cannons, on their hoods or on their rear sections. He shivered voluntarily.

There were some racers who were willing to do anything.

Emag walked alongside the speeder, as it had only one seat for the pilot, and watched the crowds himself. Eilen had remained back on the Happy Contriver, not feeling at all comfortable on this world and wishing to stay away from the less desirable-looking competitors. Skeet knew how she felt; he had felt a little out of place himself when he had first arrived on Raca City.

Emag’s loud laugh turned his head and he watched as his uncle gave a blue-skinned Duros a friendly hug.

“Driss!” Emag said loudly. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m competing, of course,” Driss Cotta laughed. He turned his large oval eyes on the speeder and looked directly at Skeet. “More to the point,” he said, turning back to Emag, “What are you doing here?”

There was a short pause before Emag answered.

“Skeet’s in the triple T.” Emag looked over at Skeet and smiled.

“What?” Driss was amazed. “In this? Isn’t this Brey’s...”

“It is,” Skeet said quickly. “I’m running in his place. He gave me his ticket.”

“Oh, no,” Driss laughed, “I know Brey, there’s no way in the galaxy he would have missed this. He’d only do something like that if his brain fell out or he...” The Duros stopped short, seeing both Skeet and Emag’s downcast faces. He immediately started to feel a lot smaller than he actually was.

“Oh, no,” he whispered.

“Driss, a lot has happened since you left,” Emag said and began to tell his friend about the Imperial invasion and Brey’s sacrifice.

Skeet didn’t want to listen. He had tried to put the feelings about Brey out of his mind, strangely telling himself that he had plenty of time to get used to his friends death. In actual fact he was just trying to put aside his grief so that he could concentrate on the upcoming race. He felt guilty at that, thinking that not mourning Brey’s passing was a sign that he didn’t really care, but even though he hard hardly got to know Brey he knew that they would have become great friends. That was what upset him the most, knowing that they had so much to share and had so little time together.

As these thoughts and others tumbled through his mind, he thought he saw that figure again, and he strained his neck to get a decent view through the crowd. Once again, the figure eluded him.

A horn sounded, a long warbling sound that bought everyone to a standstill. They had all congregated around the front of the fortress, just outside the huge yawning gate, and now they were a little closer Skeet could see a huge balcony across the top of that gate. He stared at the gathered aliens there and balked.

Six Hutts of varying sizes were laid out on floaters, hovering platforms that transported the ugly slug creatures about. They were capable of movement under their own power but Skeet knew that they were incredibly obese creatures; some so large they couldn’t move without assistance. They were all lounging about on cushions and pillows in the shade, smoking hookahs and sipping from tall glasses filled with various coloured liquids. The crowd watched expectantly.

One of the larger Hutts floated forward, his huge slitted eyes blinking in the bright light. A small hovering microphone zipped up to his face and he started talking. His amplified voice echoed over the amassed and an interpreter ‘droid, out of sight in the darkness of the balcony, spoke his words for those not fluent in Huttese.

“Racers. His Excellency Jabba the Hutt welcomes you to the Tatooine Ten Thousand. You have all proved yourselves with your performance on the speeder circuit. You will now honour us with your bravery and skill. The purse is five hundred thousand standard credits.”

And that was it. The speech was short and to the point. It was what Skeet had expected. Hutt’s weren’t known for their eloquence.

As the crowd started to disperse and line up for the race, a voice echoed around the area. “No!”

All turned to see who it was who had called out. Jabba half turned himself, one bald eyebrow raised.

A tall lizard being stalked from the crowd, glaring at all around him. Skeet recognised him immediately, the figure that had been eluding him as he had joined the racing throng.

It was the racer who had tried to collide with Brey back on Raca City, after which he had been banned from the circuit. He gulped, his anxiety heightened by the way the lizard stared at him as he stepped forward and raised a finger at Skeet.

“That man can’t race!” the lizard shouted. “He is a new racer, he has not earned his pass!”

A murmur passed through the crowd, some disinterested but more concerned.

Jabba came back to the forefront of the balcony, the small microphone floating back up to his face. He rumbled a short sentence and the hidden ‘droid interpreted.

“Is this true?”

Skeet stood up in his seat and looked over at Emag and Driss who watched nervously.

“Yes, it is true. My friend was killed, and he gave me his pass as his final wish.” Skeet knew better than to try to appeal to a Hutt’s sense of morality, knowing they had none, but at this juncture he could do little more than tell the truth.

The lizard laughed.

“Hah! If he hasn’t earned the ticket then he doesn’t deserve to be here! And...” he paused dramatically, before sharply jabbing his finger again at Skeet, “he killed a Hutt!”

The crowd gasped. Those standing close to Skeet started to back away, afraid that if Jabba’s henchmen, or those of his Hutt colleagues, started firing at the boy they would be caught in the crossfire. Skeet suddenly became aware at how the area around him increased.