Saga Anthology: 5th Story: Hopefully Yours: love letters between Wedge's parents

Slan all.

I was updating my bio, and realised I have a few vignettes posted in various challenge threads, which I'd like to revise and salvage.

I have noted lately that the era forums tend to get clogged with vignette threads, so I decided to set up an Anthology for my vignettes, rather than posting them as separate threads.

Hope you like some of these stories.


*Derisa*

---

(from the Character study challenge)

[b]Old Ben[/b]


The night?s chill is at my back, while the suns rise in front of me, spreading light and heat across the sands at my feet, baking the possibility of life from this harsh place. I have never liked this world.

Too spare, too arid to host any but the meanest lifeforms, the Force feels far away here, I have to stretch to reach it. I have trekked the Dune Sea across three routes now, with no more sense of life than the first time. What once buoyed me up and carried me along like a leaf in the current is too far distant now to do me any good.

Yet that?s for the best, isn?t it? With the Force so distant, a faint hum I hear in my dreams, the visions are gone, too. I no longer have to see out of his eyes the destruction he has wrought on the ancient Order we once belonged to. I no longer have to witness the Dark eating him alive, making a puppet of him, to perform unspeakable acts.

At least my discipline remains intact, and that gives me an edge against the primitive peoples that eke out a meagre living in the wasteland. The Sand People, with their tattered, bandaged faces: they fear me, walking the wilderness, unafraid, as I do. I pay their cruel gods no homage, and yet I am untouched. The Jawas I trade with, but they?ve seen my ilk before. I am not the first Old Man of the Desert, nor will I be the last, I am sure. It is the news they carry I find more of value than the shiny trinkets they delight in.

The dry wind tugs at my silvered hair, that once was a deep copper in hue. I am old, now, and in the cold nights of this Force-forsaken world, I feel it the most. The days I wander, shielded by a robe made heavy with sand, biding my time. The boy is safe from the Monster I helped make, and he waits too, all unknowing, of the fate that must await him. He must be the Son of the Suns, for surely the creature who sired him isn?t. The last hope of the Jedi, the *real* Chosen One.

You were wrong, my Master. That slave boy you brought back from this place was not destined to save us, but I have looked into eyes bluer and a heart more loving, and I know the truth. Anakin destroyed so much, and continues to ravage the Galaxy, Sidious holding his leash... but Luke will rebuild.

I must place my hopes in him, barely a boy, because if I do not, I must confess that I have no hope left. That is a very great sin for a Jedi, I recall, though who is to hold me to that, I wonder? I am the last.

The second sun has risen, and the day grows too warm. I turn my back to the suns? unforgiving heat, and half-shuffle, half-slide down the dune where I took my morning meditation. Today, I will follow the sheltering shade of the cliffs, past Eriwadih and Mos Eisley.

Owen was to be at Anchorhead for the next fortnight, Beru told me: this would be a good time to visit, see how the boy progresses.

 

From the blind character challenge:

Hope Reborn


I can hear it, you know. Fear has a distinct sound. It?s like old paper being crumbled by uncaring hands, fibres torn and brutalized. It gets louder as time passes, as the invisible face of death draws nearer.

Fear also smells and tastes different: an acrid stench of unused adrenaline; the soured flavour of wasted opportunity.

Make no mistake, for I am a good Jedi - I do not fear that which is not. There is no such thing as death: it is a moment of change only. It is inevitable, unavoidable, and profound, certainly, but nothing to be feared.

In truth, death stalks every mortal being: with every breath we hasten the end. Yet as I am a Jedi, born into this time of terrors to witness the utter destruction of my Order and the Republic, the passing of all I hold dear at the hands of that grim child, yet I repeat - there is no end, only change

Too late we learned what was meant by that black Prophecy that spoke of the ?balance of the Force?. We Jedi had grown too numerous, and our power had been weakened thereby. Even those of us gifted, as I am, Sighted since I lost my vision, we failed to see the threat until it was too late.

The wreck of a boy who even now approaches my hiding place, and the Evil that holds his strings are wreaking ?balance? upon the Jedi. Now... now at last, my time has come.

I draw the Force in to me, and I hear with more than my ears. My heart?s beats resonate within and without, and a whole Galaxy of life is breathing and living, with me. The fear fades, but does not leave me. It hovers, waiting.

The air tastes different again, sweeter somehow. It?s only fitting, I suppose that a man?s last breath should be his sweetest. I stay kneeling, even as the door hisses open, my eternal darkness uninterrupted by any light, listening to my death approach on jack-booted feet.

I feel the heat of his presence, his power flares around him, a dark cloak like a raptor?s wing. I cannot see his scars, although I can sense how marked he feels himself to be, hideous now, destined for hatred and loathing. He has let it twist his spirit, and smother under the Dark all the light that had been Anakin Skywalker.

He glows through the darkness that is all my scarred eyes have to offer me. It is as though he were forged of volcanic rock, he is dark to the eye but searing to all my other senses. What once sparkled with the Living Force was now a dark sun of pure rage. Drunk on his own fury, addicted to the power he had leashed within, Anakin Skywalker was no more. Become Darth Vader, he had lost the Light.

As he approached, the remnants of his breath rasping at my ears, I can follow the threads of his future, and the bleakness I See there saddens me. There is an end for those who dwell only in Darkness - their souls consumed by their own avarice for power, they can stave off death for many long centuries, but when it comes, as it must, it is an end, for them. The Living Force cannot abide a spirit so tainted, and so they cease to be, and know only Death.

As I follow the many possible strands of his future, I See many deaths that await Darth Vader, many angry deaths. Sometimes it is at the hands of his Dark Master, or his eventual Apprentice. In some, his beloved betrays and murders him, in others, my friend Obi-Wan, over the flash of ?sabers, takes the life that was once his Padawan?s. In all of those myriad futurepaths I See, none lead back to the Light.

I sorrow as I know this, that so much potential should be wasted, and then I hear the deadly hiss of a lightsabre, and the singed air stinks of ozone. His blade swings unerring, and I am ready, in tune with the deep Force, within and with out... but wait!

My own lightsabre is in my hands, though I did not intend to waste time staving off the inevitable, yet I must defend myself, for I am driven to know of what it is I caught a glimpse? what is I See?? A light?

It is!

Somewhere out there, in the vibrant darkness of the Galaxy, a spark is flickering, now catchi

 

This one was first posted May 5, 2001, in the short story thread Tales From Mos Espa, started by Perator. I may continue the series this vignette triggered, one of these years. Hoep you like it.


*Derisa*

---

[b]Sand and Sun: the Scrounger's Tale[/b]



"Ahummm..." the robed figure paused at the edge of the ravine, olfactory sensors twitching under the red glow of his eyes, shrouded in the deep shadows of his brown hood.

[i]Where is it?? I can smell it around here somewhere... the metal is new polished, hot and shiny-shiny from the suns... I want it, I want to look at it, to bask in its gleaming... I want the shiny-shiny credit chits it will bring, as good as the droid itself, but they will fit into my pouch... now, where is it? Aahhhhh... ah hah![/i] "Uttini!"

("I have found it!")

A flurry of movement rustling over the sand and jagged rocks, and the squat little being had found the droid. "Hello little one, what are you doing wandering the wastes?" he chattered at the metal body, "What are you called?"

A short series of beeps and whirs was his answer. "DeeOneNine. I cannot tell you how happy I am to meet you." The little red-eyed desert-dweller reached up to pat the droid on the head by way of introduction, but it blatted a loud warning at him, and the squat creature retracted his arm in haste.

The droid whirred again and began backing away from the shorter being, a certain suspicion to its movements. "Oh no, no no, little roller, I am not an enemy."

He drew himself up to his fullest height, which was still less than a few centimetres taller than the droid. "I am Mehrass Kalindry Ren-bival, Many-fingered Lord Jawa of the Dune Sea."

The droid gave a skeptical beep, and the little robed creature shrunk back in on himself again. "To most, I am Me'val."

DeeOneNine whirred again, almost a snort, and spun on its motivators, but the tread caught a rock and before it could stop itself, the little droid had ridden up the side of the rock and overbalanced. Its sturdy white body gave a loud clang as it fell to the rock-strewn sand of the ravine floor, adding another dent to the copious number it had already gathered. Me'val scuttled forward, his acquisitive hands reaching to assist the flustered droid in righting itself. This time, DeeOneNine suffered the touch of those dry hands.

"The Dune Sea is not good for you, little droid, so much sand to get into your gears, and the suns burn out your photoreceptors and the coriolis winds rasp away your shiny-shiny plating. Come with me, I will be your friend, I will help you, polish you and fix you up, give you a new home, safety..."

Me'val could see this last offer had grabbed DeeOneNine's attention. "Yes, safety. You'll be safe with me, little friend-" he was cut off by the sudden arrival of several more, identically brown-robed figures, equally short of stature, with equally avaricious hands.

"Uttini! Arrarin anill!" the lead figure declared, reaching for the droid, and echoed by the line of Jawas behind him. "Utt, Utt, ara!"

"N'ara, ni'anill, Erviss Uttin'allosh!" Me'val barked, blocking the other Jawa's access to DeeOneNine. One touch with his sand-scoured grey hands and Me'val would lose his new friend, his Find. ("Not your Find! Back off!")

The leader seemed about to argue, but after eyeing the droid carefully, MasterFinder Erviss nodded. "Irit anaril, n'Utt. Meshin andril askoli!" She gave a bark of laughter, ("Hah! It's all yours, unFinder. Much wealth may it bring you!")

The line of Jawas scurried past, keeping their distance from the outcast and his new Find.

[i]What did she mean by that?[/i] Me'val asked himself, but his curiousity was obscured by triumph. At long last, he would receive the credit for the salvage! No longer would he be mocked with the epithet Me'val unFinder: he was a true servant of the great Sun Finder, and the recovery of this little droid would prove that to all the People. [i]They must accept me back, now. The credits this shiny-shiny droid will bring could buy me a place on a c

 

Good one, Derisa! THAT is original! And what a dilemma for poor Me'val! I hope someday you write a vignette with the sales pitch... somehow, I'm sure he'll figure out some way to pass D1-9 off on some poor unsuspecting soul.

 

Glad you liked that one, Renata. I had fun writing it, coming up with a tribal structure for the single most neglected species in the GFFA, the Jawas.

Actually, Me'val tries to sell D1-9, but I had in mind a very odd outcome for the duo, in the end. Like I said, I may write it one of these days.

Still hunting up the next story...


*Derisa*

 

Slan all, (or is it just you and me, Renata? )

This story was first posted in the early days of '02, as a series of vignettes, but since it totals barely over a thousand words, it fits here as one post, with some mixing and editing.

This is the edited version, now in complete cohesion with AOTC, which of course came out after the first draft of this scene. Just FYI: this scene contains some speculation as to events of Episode III, which have been widely discussed elsewhere, but if you are trying to stay spoiler-free till Episode III, rad no further.

This is a first person vignette, from Anakin's own point of view.

Hope you like it.


*Derisa*

---

[b]Cold Comfort[/b]


Cold... I am so [b]cold[/b]...

To counter that, I try to remember the warmth, those twin suns under which I grew up. I can almost see their vibrant, deep golden light.

Obi-Wan, that eternal fool, once told me that it is a sun which gives a world life. What did he know? He spent all of ten minutes on Tatooine's parched surface, to my seven years. One sun may give life, but two will rob all life of a planet. Too much of a good thing, maybe.

My face is hurting. I must have smiled.

Hah! Would I ever hear an apology from him, that arrogant Jedi? Not in my brightest dreams. I know him too well, with his trust in the benificence of the Universe. "Guided by the Force" as he is, he'll never admit to being wrong, about anything, from the suns of Tatooine to my training. They should have left me there, to live as a slave and die as a slave, just like my mother.

She liked the light of Tatooine's suns, I remember. The light was almost thick. You could almost hold its heavy golden weight in your hands. Tatoo I and II [b]crushed[/b] the closest thing I?ll ever have to a homeworld, dessicated the green out of it, and turned anything hard, stone or bone, into soft and deadly sand. How heavy was the light from those suns.

And yet, there was that deep, body penetrating, dry heat... I remember being able to tell the time of day just by the temperature. Even in one of the coriolis storms, I could always tell the hour by how hot I was.

That heat, waking me in the morning, and accompanying me to bed at night, as ever-present as the care of my mother... it was the wonderful, glorious surety of being [b]home[/b], that heat...

After we left in that magical vessel of Padme's, her gleaming silver waterflow of a ship, I thought I would never be warm again. Space is so cold.

But I was wrong. I have been warmer than I ever wanted to be. Too much of a good thing, indeed.

Oh, my face! The skin has cracked, it hurts so much. Anakin, stop smiling. It only hurts more. Think of something else.

Flying. I remember flying. I thought for a while it was a dream, but this is clearer than those blurred visions and feelings from what I think is sleep. The rush of adrenaline, that almost-felt flash of fear as the thrusters power up and then, I am slammed against the seat, and rocketed up and out and away... I [b]know[/b] I remember that.

I am clinging to that wonderful sense of... freedom? Is that what it is? Yet even then, I am trapped, by the ship, by the frail human body that it encases...

Ah! Oh Light, I shouldn?t think about my body. Not now, when whatever is left of it hurts so badly. I do not want to consider what I must look like now. The haze of pain obscures my senses so much sometimes, I am confused.

No... go back, remember flying, remember the chill depths of space, the pure arclight of freedom, the colour of the infinite starred sky surrounding me, yes. Yes, that?s better. Remember that. Let the body fade away.

Isn?t that what Obi-Wan is always saying? Let the body?s demands fade away, become one with the Force.

I would laugh if I could breathe: The Force, indeed! Where was the Force when I needed it? When I did what was right, finally going to find my mother, knowing she needed me, only to find her too late...

Where was it when those animals savaged her, when they took my mother?s life? Whe

 

It's me now too, Derisa. I would have been here sooner, but I sort of stumbled across this from the link in your profile. Didn't betaread it, so didn't know about it.

I had to skip the last one because I'm trying to stay spoiler-free, but it's good to see these short stories assembled here, especially now that you're regularly entering fanfic challenges. Your writing rocks, and it's much more evident when it's collected together like this. Thanks for the treat, keep `em coming!

- Rani

 

Hey Rani! Thanks for joining us! Sorry about the spoilers: I should edit in a note about that, although of course any of it is speculation, pure and simple.

This one's my entry in the Love Letter chalenge: you know I had so very many bunnies for this challenge, but of all of them, this was the only one that practically wrote itself. Jagged Antilles is the father of Wedge, of course, and Zena ends up as his mother, and they both die in a tragic accident aboard their refueling station at Gus Treta, as is detailed in the very well drawn Dark Horse graphic novel, The Phantom Affair. There's little else written about either of them, so I decided to fill in one of those many blanks.

One of the things that has always puzzled me is why Wedge never hooked up with Mirax, the daughter of renowned smuggler Booster Terrik. This piece features a possible solution to that question.

Hope you like it.


*Derisa*

---

[b]Hopefully Yours[/b]


Communication: [i]R114, log GE 4.02.14 (14:43 ICM)[/i]
Origin: [i]G TRETA 71/D[/i]
Routed through Sys: [i]CORELLIA, relay: CTRPT STN[/i]
Destination: [i]BT SHIPPING, ATTN: Z[/i]

[color=darkblue]Zena,

Light, I miss you.

I know, I see you in a week, and I shouldn?t be spending the creds on this transmission, which is why it is text only, but I just had to tell you. Zena: I have found the place at last! I think it?s perfect.

There's a pretty funny story behind it too: it practically fell into my lap. This guy, one of the Sal-Solos, you know how they are, well he?d won it in a bar bet, and had no idea what to do with the place. He owed me some credits? it?s a long story. Anyway, he paid, and I really think I got the better end of the deal. It?s a station, out here near Gus Treta. (71/A/U83) It?s complete and viable.

Okay, I admit, it?s a little run down, but I?ve been spending a lot of time fixing it up, and it looked way worse than it actually was. Now, I know, I?ve been out here a while working on various things, and nothing?s really panned out, aside from the Skate of course, and she?s half yours. What I want to know is whether you want in on a bigger partnership.

No... that?s not it entirely... Oh boy. Okay. Here it is.

Zena, I know our flirtation over the past couple of years has grown into something more. I am hoping you feel it too.

I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, here at Gus Treta. We can be happy and safe, a little cubbyhole out of sight of the Empire, or at least below thgeir notice. I know we can fix up this place and run it, make it work, just us. Just us two. Well, and any kids that happen along the way.

Wow. Yeah. That?s what I?m talking about.

Zena, I want to marry you? I want you to be my wife. I think we can make this place work, and after the last time we were together and you were talking about getting out of the acting scene, I thought, "Maybe..." I know I'm probably overstepping myself, but please, please give it a thought before you refuse me out of hand.

I have a place for us to go now, and no debts hanging over my head, now that the Skate is earning her keep. The Empire seems determined to cut into us small frieghthaulers anyway it can, so I?m thinking the time has come for us gypsies to settle down some: if they cut off the shipping entirely, we'll still have something to fall back on.

What do you say? Does an old Corellian serviceman like myself have even a chance?

Oh Light, I can?t believe I just proposed to you over the ?Net! I love you, Zena. I?ll be there in a week, but if you know your answer, don?t keep me waiting too long, okay?

Hopefully yours,


Jagged Antilles[/color]

* * *

Communication: [i]R114.r1, log GE 4.02.14 (18:21 ICM)[/i]
Origin: [i]CORELLIA (BT SHIPPING, CC)[/i]
Routed through Sys: [i]CORELLIA, relay: CTRPT STN[/i]
Destination: [i]G TRETA 71/D (IFF Pulsar Skate, ATTN: Antilles, J)[/i]

[color=purple]Dearest Jag,

Yes! Yes and yes and yes, a thousand times yes! Why didn?t you ever ask before, you big lug? I l