Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens the Weapon of a Jedi: A Luke Skywalker Adventure (5 page)

Kivas fetched a work light, and Luke followed him across the landing field, where the droids were waiting.

“Hello, sir,” Threepio said. “I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations. And this
is—”

“No need to be so formal, Threepio,” Luke said hastily. “Let the man work.”

Kivas let the light play over the Y-wing’s twisted hull and peered into the craters blasted into its plating. The holes in the starboard engine were fringed with beads where laser blasts
had liquefied the metal.

“Pirate trouble, eh?” he said with a smirk. “Should probably report that to the Imperial
governor.”

“I probably should,” Luke said, giving Threepio a warning glance. “Did I mention I have credits?”

“Always good to hear,” Kivas said. “I can repair this with what I have in the shop. But it will take three or four days—and six thousand credits. All in
advance.”

“Six thousand?” Threepio gasped. “Master L—um, Korl, this man does not run a reputable business. I suggest we—”

“That will do, Threepio,” Luke said. “Six thousand? Really?”

“It would cost less if I had replacement parts shipped in from the capital,” Kivas said with a shrug. “But then there’d be a lot of paperwork. Permits, bureaucrats asking
questions, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, there’s enough paperwork in the galaxy as it is,” Luke said smoothly, reaching for his credit chip. “Let’s not trouble
the authorities—surely the Empire
has more important things to worry about than repairs to a scout ship.”

“I’ll get your fighter under cover, then,” Kivas said, showing a mouthful of pointed teeth. “Town’s that way—you can take a room at the depot with the
others.”

The depot was a rambling building in the center of Tikaroo, assembled seemingly at random from wood, stone, prefab plastic
buildings, and shipping containers emblazoned with
the faded logos of Corellian import-export firms. A long porch looked out over shuttered shops and food stalls. Landspeeders, speeder bikes, and a trio of squat, green-skinned pack beasts awaited
their owners out front.

Luke followed the buzz of conversation and music through a pair of swinging doors and into a wide common room crowded
with tables, mismatched chairs, and couches, many of which had seen better
decades. Faces turned his way as he entered, with Threepio following uncertainly behind. There were men and women from a dozen different species, though at least half of those gathered were
Devaronians. A few wore rich clothes, but most were clad in worn, practical garments.

“Hey, Porst! Fresh meat!” one of the
Devaronians yelled as Luke made his way across the room to a counter crowded with bottles of brightly colored liquid. Some of the liquids were
fizzing or roiling in a way he found alarming. “Man needs a room! And probably a guide!”

A Rodian missing one of his antennae began pounding on a buzzer set into the top of the counter, grinning at Luke. After a moment an old Devaronian with an eye
patch emerged from a curtained
alcove, looking Luke up and down. He named an exorbitant price for a room.

“That’s fine,” Luke said before Threepio could risk another short circuit. Both Porst and the onlookers seemed slightly disappointed—apparently they’d been looking
forward to a lively bout of haggling.

“Next customer was mine—we rolled a chance-cube for it, remember?” the Rodian
warned the young Devaronian standing next to him at the counter. Then he turned to Luke.

“Name’s Opato, good sir—and I’m the best guide in Tikaroo,” he said. “Bagged pikhrons on my last three hunts. Satisfaction guaranteed or you get a third of
your credits back.”

“What’s a—” Luke began.

“My green friend here couldn’t guide you out of a sack if you cut the bottom out of it first,”
the young Devaronian interrupted.

“Sir, be wary!” Opato exclaimed. “This one’s the biggest liar in Tikaroo—and that’s saying something!”

The Devaronian smiled at Luke.

“You need a native—someone like Duna Hilaris. That’s me. I’ve been exploring this jungle since I was a boy. I’m famous for knowing every pool, sand pit, and shady
glade the pikhrons like to visit.”

“Glad to hear
it,” Luke said. “But what’s a pikhron?”

When the laughter showed no signs of stopping, Threepio sidled up to Luke.

“My data file on this planet is basic, but apparently pikhrons are native herbivores. Their skins and teeth fetch considerable prices on the black market, as hunting them is forbidden by
Imperial decree.”

“Lots of things are forbidden around here but happen anyway,”
Duna said. “Don’t make your master worry, tin man. We’ve got an arrangement with the
governor.”

“I’m not much of a hunter, but I could use a guide,” Luke said. “I want to visit the towers I saw on my way in. The ruined ones?”

The crowd fell silent, even the clank of utensils on dinner plates stopping. The music burbled merrily along uninterrupted. A puzzled Luke looked from face to face.

“Eedit’s off limits,” Porst said.

Luke smiled. “I thought many things were forbidden in Tikaroo but happened anyway.”

The joke fell flat—Opato took a sudden interest in his drink, Duna checked his comlink, and the other guides turned away.

“Was it something I said?” Luke asked.

“No one goes to Eedit,” Porst said. “You’d bring ruin to us all, messing with that place. It would
risk everything we have left.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

“Because it’s cursed, you brainless outlander,” growled a massive, mean-looking slab of humanoid muscle. “Filled with the ghosts of the—”

Porst made a slashing motion across his throat, his single eye cold and staring.

“All you need to know is to stay away from it,” he said, handing Luke his room key. “Number twelve upstairs.
House rules are on the back of the door, but here’s the most
important one: I don’t tolerate troublemakers. And you’re already on my bad side, outlander.”

“Think I’ll turn in, then,” Luke said. “Maybe we can make a fresh start tomorrow.”

Porst just turned away.

The room was simple but clean, with a balcony overlooking Tikaroo. Luke stared up at the stars while Threepio fussed over
the room’s power connectors, certain he and Artoo would be
incinerated the second they tried to recharge.

No moons were in the sky. Luke couldn’t remember if Devaron had any.

“I for one will be grateful to be back with the Alliance,” Threepio said. “I know you’re disappointed not to find a guide, Master Luke, but no doubt it’s for the
best. I almost think I’d prefer getting shot at
by the Empire to a suicidal trek into jungles prowled by savage beasts.”

Luke just smiled. He wasn’t afraid of jungle beasts, and he didn’t believe in curses. He’d reach the towers. He just hadn’t figured out how yet.

H
E WAS SWIMMING
in dark water, beneath two pale moons in a sky spangled with stars
.

He moved through the water with smooth, easy strokes, alternately gliding along the surface and dipping beneath it. When he got tired he surfaced and treaded water gently until the ripples
he’d created ebbed, turning the water into a mirror of the night sky. He looked down at the water and saw his face
looking back—except it wasn’t his face. His reflection had black
eyes and mottled gray-and-green skin wreathed by tentacles.

He dove, powerful kicks of his feet taking him deep beneath the water. He inhaled water but didn’t choke—the oxygen in it revitalized him. He smiled. It was peaceful down there
below the surface—a realm of pleasantly cool water and muted sound.

A rock wall loomed
ahead of him, with a dark oval cut in the middle of it. He swam down into it, then up through a twisting corridor. His feet found purchase on stone steps, and his head
broke the surface of the water. At the top of the stairs stood a human in dark gray and brown robes. He was holding a lightsaber, which he held out with a smile.

Luke awoke with a start, sitting up in the bed in his room in
the Tikaroo depot. It was dark, and the night thrummed with the song of insects. Threepio sat on a bench against the wall, his
photoreceptors dark as he recharged, but Luke saw the red light of Artoo’s processing indicator turn his way, followed by a curious beep.

“I was swimming,” he said, and Artoo whistled questioningly.

“In my dream, of course,” Luke said, trying to clear the fog
from his brain. “I can’t swim. Not much use for it on Tatooine. But in the dream I could.”

Artoo offered a baffled hoot, and Luke smiled.

“Because in the dream I was someone else,” he said, scrubbing his hands through his messy hair. “I don’t understand it either.”

He swung his feet to the floor and walked out onto the balcony. Just a few lights shone in sleeping Tikaroo. Luke looked
up into the night and saw two pale moons above.

He immediately recognized them as the same ones he’d seen in his dream, even down to their positions in the sky. The constellations were identical, too.

Devaron. I was dreaming of Devaron. No, not dreaming. It was the Force, giving me another clue about where to go.

Luke leaned on the railing of the balcony and stared out past the great
spire on the edge of town, a darker shape against the starry sky.

There was a lake out there in the jungle—a lake an alien Jedi had swum in. And that lake hid a passageway.

Now he knew where he was supposed to go.

Porridge and tarine tea made for a warm, filling breakfast, but Luke got a chilly reception from Porst, and the guides all curtly informed him that they weren’t for
hire.

Angry, he stomped out through the depot’s swinging doors into the streets of Tikaroo, with Threepio shuffling hurriedly after him—Luke had sent Artoo to the landing field to check on
how Kivas was doing with the repairs.

The villagers glanced at him curiously as he marched through the town, imagining and rejecting various ideas—flying the repaired Y-wing into the jungle, say, or trusting
an uncertain
combination of Artoo’s sensors and his own shaky command of the Force. He knew neither of those plans was a good one, and the other ideas he came up with were even worse.

There was no help for it—he’d have to go back to the depot and tell the guides that since credits were no object, they should name their price. Surely one of them would be greedy
enough to risk a journey
to the forbidden towers.

Threepio tapped him on the shoulder.

“Master Luke, I believe that girl from the landing field has been following us.”

Luke glanced back and spotted a slim Devaronian figure with spots on her forehead ducking around the corner of a house. He sighed and strode off in that direction.

Farnay had pressed herself against the wall. She glared at him when he arrived,
taking one step to run but then thinking better of it.

“First of all, I wasn’t following you,” she said.

“Who said you were?” Luke asked with a smile.

Color bloomed in Farnay’s cheeks, beneath her thin covering of reddish down.

“All right, maybe I was.”

“That’s better,” Luke said. “I don’t think you’re cut out to be a spy—you just got caught by See-Threepio.”