Star Wars - Episode I Adventures 008 - Trouble on Tatooine Read online

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Kitster was dreaming again. In his dream, he was a little boy, sitting on his father’s lap. They were on a spaceship, on the bridge, and his father was holding him tight as they blasted into hyperspace.

  He couldn’t remember his father’s face. His father was a big man, with dark hair. But in the dream Kitster vividly saw his father’s right hand. Kitster traced a ragged white scar that ran from the joint of his father’s thumb up to the middle of his wrist. His father wore a golden bracelet that looked like a slave’s manacle.

  Kitster was studying the bracelet when his father said, “Here we go.”

  Suddenly the chair began to shudder, and the stars on the screen turned to streaks of light as the ship quickened into hyperspace.

  Kitster sat gaping, enthralled by the light show. His father hugged him. “You’re going to go far in life,” he said.

  “On your feet, slave!” a deep voice growled. There was a sharp pain as someone kicked Kitster in the ribs.

  He woke in a daze, and found himself lying in the dirt, beneath a tall tree.

  It took him a moment to recall where he was and how he’d gotten here. The escape!

  It came back in a flash. He’d brought Dorn here to Gardulla the Hutt’s pleasure garden to wait with Pala and the Ghostling children. They were supposed to escape from Tatooine.

  Only at the last minute, Sebulba and his companions had found them. Kitster had been trying to sneak out when he’d been hit by a stun blast.

  Now he was awake. He crawled to his hands and knees, but couldn’t get up. His ears were ringing. He felt so dizzy he couldn’t stand. Metal cuffs bound his wrists.

  “You heard me. On your feet!” Kitster’s captor yanked a chain. The binders on his hands snapped forward. He fell with a groan.

  Captured. I’ve been captured. His stomach tightened as he swallowed his panic. He’d tried to free the Ghostling children, so they could go home to their parents. But the law on Tatooine forbade anyone from helping slaves escape. There was only one punishment for what he’d done: death.

  Kitster hoped that his friends had gotten away. He thought of Anakin, Pala, Dorn, Princess Arawynne, and the other Ghostling children. If they escaped, he’d be happy.

  “Up, I say!” Another boot slammed into Kitster. He steeled himself for the ordeal ahead. He climbed to his knees, and made it to his feet.

  He had no idea how long he’d been knocked out. He felt surprised to see that it was still daytime. He judged by the shadows that it was still a couple of hours until sundown.

  His guard was a Weequay, who held the chains that bound Kitster in a beefy brown fist. Kitster pulled back, and the guard gave him a hard tug. The force of it yanked Kitster off his feet.

  Kitster felt too weak to fight, or even to walk on his own. His wrists hurt horribly. The Weequay didn’t mind if Kitster couldn’t walk. He simply pulled the chain, dragging Kitster down the bumpy trail.

  The guard didn’t drag him far. The Weequay took him to the door of the pleasure garden and let Kitster lie. Several more Weequay stood watch there. Kitster groaned.

  Dorn lay on the ground nearby. He was still knocked out.

  “We’ve caught the Ghostlings and the pesky little Twi’lek,” someone said over a guard’s comlink. It took Kitster a moment to recognize Sebulba’s voice. “I think there may be one more kid hiding in here. I saw three kids dressed up in Jawas’ robes. So keep your eyes open.”

  Kitster’s heart pounded. The kid had to be Anakin. He hoped with all his might that his best friend would escape.

  The guard standing above Kitster received one more message on his comlink.

  “Transport the prisoners to the holding pens at the arena,” Sebulba instructed.

  Kitster and his friends were trapped!

  Jira stood in the hot Tatooine air, a blue rag tied around her stringy gray hair, squinting at passersby and calling, “Fruit. Get your fruit here.” The small canopy over her stand didn’t provide enough shade for her to stand in.

  Jawas, moisture farmers, and creatures from a hundred worlds passed her by. They headed for the cool, dark cantinas, sheltered from Tatooine’s twin suns.

  Anakin ran up to her rickety stand.

  “Hello, Annie,” Jira said loudly. “What can I do for you?”

  Anakin tried to hide the desperation in his voice as he whispered, “I need help. Pala and Dorn and Kitster have all been captured with the Ghostling children!”

  Jira’s breath caught in her throat, and she gave a little cough of surprise. She glanced around, as if searching for a place to sit. Anakin could see the hope and joy go out of her eyes, as if he’d just struck her.

  “Oh,” she said loudly, for any passerby who might be listening. “You want something special. I think I have one back home.”

  She closed her little fruit stand, and Anakin followed her through the dusty streets, toward her quarters. They rounded a droid who was cleaning up after a dewback, then passed a couple of beefy Baragwins who were wrestling in the street while people made bets on the outcome.

  As they strode purposefully along, a loudspeaker set atop a nearby vaporator tower announced, “There will be a slave execution at sunset tonight, in the arena. The public is invited to attend. Reserve your seat now — only five wupiupi!”

  Anakin tried not to reveal the depth of his fear. He knew what was happening.

  They reached Jira’s small quarters. Anakin was again shocked at how barren it was.

  As soon as the door closed, Jira turned with a sad expression. “Annie, you’re a good boy.”

  Anakin nodded. He could tell that she had bad news.

  “You and your friends tried to do what was right,” Jira said. “And for that, your friends might have to pay with their lives.”

  “I don’t want to hear this,” Anakin said.

  “You have to hear it. There’s a ship coming tonight, in less than four hours. It was supposed to take the Ghostling children away. Now I think that you should go, instead.”

  “No!” Anakin said. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his friends to die.

  “I’m telling you this for your own good. There’s nothing left that you can do.”

  “You’re the one who told us to have hope,”

  Anakin said. “You’re the one who said that there’s always hope.”

  Jira shook her head sadly. “I didn’t get the money,” she admitted. “I got part of it, but not nearly enough. Maybe if we give them the money I’ve got, the smugglers will take you away, instead.”

  Anakin looked at her fiercely. His eyes felt as if they were burning, and he fought back tears. “Get the money,” he said. “Any way you can. And be ready at sunset. I’ll be ready. And so will my friends.”

  Kitster lay in the dirt beside Dorn at the door to the pleasure garden. His wrists were so swollen that the irons felt as if they were shrinking, getting tighter with each passing minute.

  He kept thinking about escape. He had spent most of his life thinking about escape, but this time he was even more desperate. He watched the guards, hoping that they would turn their backs.

  If I can escape, he w
ondered, where do I go?

  So far, no one had recognized him. He’d kept his face mostly covered by the reddish-brown Jawa robe. But Gardulla the Hutt owned Kitster. Sooner or later, someone in the fortress would recognize him.

  Then there would be no escape. Once they knew his name, all they had to do was push the button on his transmitter and...

  The handcuffs themselves gave Kitster an idea. They were black with grease.

  Kitster’s face was dark. By scraping some of the black grease off the irons and rubbing it on his face and hands, he managed to make himself even darker. He didn’t get as black as a Sakiyan, but it was close.

  There was no disguising Dorn. His pelt and his enormous long eyebrows marked him as a Bothan. The slave masters already knew his name.

  Kitster lay on the grass. Big trees rose up nearby, with vines and moss hanging from them. Someone had turned the waterfall back on, so that it tumbled from rocks on the hillside, but it was only a soft rumble.

  Soon, Djas Puhr and some other guards brought in Pala and the Ghostling children. They were chained together at the foot so that no one could run.

  Pala walked in the lead with her head down. Her twin head-tails hung limply down her back. Princess Arawynne followed behind her, breathing hard. The other children trailed along quietly. They didn’t seem to be too afraid. That was good. They didn’t know what Sebulba planned for them.

  Djas Puhr made them stop, then snapped a manacle onto Kitster’s foot and chained him to Pala, so that he would be in the lead.

  Kitster felt his stomach tighten in terror. Now that he was locked to the others, escape seemed even less likely.

  When Djas Puhr finished, he chained Dorn to the last child in line.

  Gardulla the Hutt pushed into the garden. She heaved her enormous body through the door and looked at the children all locked together.

  “Ah, such a pity,” Gardulla said. “Such a waste of good slaves!”

  At that, the Ghostling children’s eyes all went wide. Some of them began pulling on their chains, each wanting to run in a different direction. Others just stood and cried.

  “Oh, Great One,” Pala begged. Gardulla turned her huge golden eyes on the young Twi’lek girl. “Please, let the Ghostlings go. It wasn’t their idea to break out. It was mine. I’m the one at fault here!”

  Gardulla smiled broadly. “That’s so noble of you, offering to sacrifice yourself for them. But you all escaped. You bombed my fortress, blew up my droids, burned me with Podracer exhaust, and squirted some really nasty cleanser in my mouth. I really must make an example of you all, don’t you think? If I don’t, people will say I’m going soft.”

  “Please,” Pala repeated. “They’re just children. Let them live as your slaves, and you’ll have them a good long time.”

  Gardulla laughed at the idea. “You tempt me. They are pretty,” she said. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you a bargain. One of your friends has escaped. Tell me his name, and I’ll give you the lives of two Ghostling children in exchange.”

  Pala stepped backward. She glanced around in terror.

  Kitster wondered: Would she really give up Anakin’s life in exchange for two children she barely knew?

  She said nothing.

  “As I thought,” Gardulla said.

  Gardulla slithered closer, and examined Dorn. “Jabba had such great hopes for you.”

  She reached up to Dorn’s neck and touched the tiny signal jammer that Anakin had made for him. It looked like a plain old necklace that a slave might wear. She held it up, letting it dangle in the light. “Ingenious,” Gardulla said. “A real work of art.”

  She drew close to Kitster. He stood with his hands clasped, looking at the ground. The hood of his robe covered his face.

  “Look at me,” Gardulla ordered.

  Kitster looked up and held his breath. Gardulla had lots of slaves, thousands of them. Would she recognize him? She took one glance at his dark, dark face. No hint of recognition showed in her eyes. “What of you, little one? Life is so precious, don’t you think? What if I offer you your life, in exchange for your friend’s?”

  He knew that she was lying. She’d never keep such a bargain. “What kind of friend would I be, if I did that?”

  “A smart friend,” Gardulla said. “A living friend.”

  Kitster heard a pulsing noise. He recognized it immediately. It was the sound of an interrogator droid.

  He glanced at the garden door and saw the droid, like a round globe, come gliding through. Its red electronic eye scanned the group. The children behind Kitster began to whimper and back away. They fought their chains.

  “Well, since you’re first in line,” Gardulla said to Kitster, “I’ll give you first chance to talk.”

  The droid swept forward on its repulsorlift engine. Kitster prepared for his first interrogation.

  Anakin wasn’t going to just talk about having hope. He was going to act on it.

  The first thing he had to do was to figure out how to save his friends. He thought about where Kitster and the others were being taken — the Mos Espa Arena.

  The arena was where they held Podraces, but sometimes the Hutts sponsored fights there, too. Since the fights were between some of the most fearsome creatures in the galaxy, the arena had some holding pens built where beasts could be locked away until they fought.

  That’s where they’d keep Anakin’s friends and the Ghostling children, in some pen built for monsters. The problem was, those pens were designed for huge, cruel beings — not kids.

  Anakin considered how to get his friends out. He couldn’t hope to disarm the guards. Nor could he overpower them or trick them.

  No, the best way to get his friends out would be to sneak them out. But it wouldn’t be easy.

  He could think of only one entrance that might lead to the holding pens: the sand drains.

  There were some pretty big drainage pipes running under the city, taking extra sand from the buildings. With luck, the pipes would be big enough to crawl through.

  He ran home, and went to his room. It was the middle of the day, and Watto would be waiting for him to get back from his errands.

  Anakin knew he’d have to stall. If he managed to get his friends free, he could tell Watto the errands had taken him much longer than they actually had. The Toydarian would be mad, and he’d make Anakin work overtime for days, just to teach him a lesson. But Anakin’s friends were worth the risk.

  Anakin checked through the stuff in his room. There was lots of old junk in his cubbyholes: model spaceships, parts to old droids. Some of the junk was worth money. But none of it, except maybe his Jawa ion blaster, would help him get his friends free.

  Anakin swept the valuable stuff into a big bag, and then lugged it down to the market. He quickly sold his stuff to a dealer. Then he bought what he needed — glow rods, sandmasks, and a hand-held beamdrill. When he finished, he didn’t have any money left over.

  By then, more than an hour had passed. There was still no sign of Gardulla the Hutt and the kids.

  This made it easier for Anakin to break into the holding pens. He simply walked into the unguarded arena. There he found a large drain that carried sand out when the cleaning droids swept the floors. Anakin unfastened the grill over the drain and began to explore the pipes beneath the arena.

  “This isn’t working,” Sebulba complained as the interrogator droid circled Pala again.

  The Twi’lek girl stood mutely. She clenched her teeth, and her headtails lashed, but she did not want to show any sign of discomfort. Still, there was a haunted look in her eyes that suggested she could be broken.

  “Tell us what we want to know,” Gardulla demanded, “and the pain will stop. Who helped you escape?”

  “No one!” Pala said for the twentieth time.

  The interrogator droid whined in her ears. Pala cringed, but did not try to escape the shrill noise. “Maybe you should turn up the volume,” Pala suggested. “Madame Vansitt can yell louder than thi
s.”

  Sebulba was outraged.

  He’d captured the children nearly three hours ago, and the interrogator droid had failed to break both Kitster and Pala. “She’s as bad as the boy,” he grumbled. “None of these children will talk. They know they only have to hold out for a little while longer.”

  Gardulla glanced at a wall chrono. The executions were scheduled in just over an hour. She didn’t have time to torture the children anymore.

  “Very well, then,” she said. “Let them take their secret to the grave. If they want to protect their friend, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t matter?” Sebulba asked, livid.

  “He’s just one more child,” Gardulla said. “What can one child do?”

  With that, she waved her hand. The guards came forward and escorted the children to a transport.

  In moments they would be on their way to the Mos Espa Arena, to meet their fates.

  The transport crawled over the sandy road to Mos Espa. It wound through canyons of red rock, where the wild Sand People once raised their hubba gourds in abundance, and took shelter from the fierce desert storms.

  The transport came bouncing over the uneven streets of the city. Onlookers stopped to gaze through the transparisteel windows.

  The suns were falling, bringing the last dusk that Dorn would ever see.

  Dorn stared out at curious droids, their eyes bright. Jawas lined the streets. Free creatures — such as Gardulla’s henchmen or criminals from the space station — shook their fists and jeered at the children. One Rodian threw a dirt clod. Fellow slaves looked through the glass with resignation, sympathy, or abject terror.

  Dorn felt as if he were a freak, some gloriously strange creature from offworld who had caught everyone’s attention.

  It’s my fault, he thought. I could have saved my friends. All I had to do was stay away from them, and none of them would have gotten caught.

  Worse than that, it had been his idea to try to save the Ghostling children in the first place. He’d dared Anakin and Kitster to come with him.

  I could have left things alone, he thought. I could have let the Ghostlings live as slaves. At least they would have lived.