Luke Skywalker sits with his back to the wall. A man with an Imperial bounty on his head does that. It isn’t a conscious decision – it’s a habit of comfort, like wearing a favorite jacket or carrying a blaster.
The entrance portal wheezes open and Luke turns his attention to the newcomers. Before the pneumatic door recedes halfway into the wall, six white shapes stalk into the room. With the dim light reflecting off their polished armor, the figures look more like wraiths than stormtroopers. Holding their blaster rifles ready to fire, they stand to either side of the entrance. A thin, silver-haired man wearing the black uniform of an Imperial general follows. The general has the narrow, pinched features of a Whelorian snake-eater. As he sweeps the room with his icy-blue eyes, malice settles on it like a caustic fog. When the general’s gaze stops at Luke’s face, the Rebel pilot tries to keep his expressive features still as he drops his hand to the blaster pistol strapped to his hip.
With his shaggy hair, inquisitive eyes, and sun-cured complexion, Luke appears to be a naïve young man – an easy mark for the smugglers, cutthroats, and Imperial agents that infest backspace watering holes. Anyone judging this youth by his face, however, will soon regret his mistake. Behind Luke’s boyish appearance lies a determined and keen mind that can draw from a surprising body of experience.
He sits in a poorly-lit hospice café with a tasteless bowl of undisguised protein concentrates in front of him. Thirty bipeds, varying in degree from human to remotely humanoid, also sit in the dreary cafeteria. In the far corner, five Sullustans occupy a table. They have dark, sad eyes and floppy jowls that hang from their noses like saddlebags. Their expressions betray a cynicism and callousness foreign to most faces of their race. A solitary Twi’lek studies the Sullustans with pale eyes that betray his miserly intent. The two skull tentacles hanging from his head twist and writhe behind his back, much like the constantly flicking tail of a Togorian female. Over a dozen other races, many of which Luke does not recognize, share the room. He is careful not to stare, for that might invite attention in return which he does not desire.
Most of the room’s occupants are prospectors working the Sil’Lume asteroid belt. Apparently, they do not find the bland food objectionable, for they gulp it down with relish. Perhaps they like the hospice prices more than they dislike its food. A hive of beetle-like insectoids operates the hospice. The hive charges remarkably low fees, for it produces the protein concentrates itself. Luke does not want to consider how.
Like Luke, the prospectors occupy rough benches along the outer walls. One man is an exception: human, he sits at a table in the center of the room. When Luke entered the hospice, this man was the first being he noticed. He has found himself subconsciously drawn to look at the man time after time during his meal. The human, who appears to be about five years older than Luke, has a firm chin-line, prominent features, and firey red-brown eyes that arrest the casual observer’s attention. In fact, over half the beings in the room pay more than passing attention to the solitary man. And he, in turn, smiles and nods to each being as if they are old chums sharing some noble secret.
Does the man, Luke wonders, know everybody in the room? Or does everybody know him? He carries himself like one born to lead, yet he sits alone like a humble priest. Apparently, the human is the only creature unconcerned about what comes through the door, for he faces away from the entrance. Luke envies the confidence and security implicit in the carelessness; he has been a Rebel for only a few months, but it seems like years since he has not needed to cover his back.
Since destroying the Death Star at the Battle of Yavin a few months ago, Luke has been so busy with dangerous missions that he has almost forgotten what it feels like to sleep in the relative security of a Rebel base. This latest job is the most nerve-wracking of all, for General Dodonna has assigned Luke’s entire wing to solitary scouting duty.
Although the Alliance won the Battle of Yavin, Dodonna knows he has only a short time before the Empire mounts another attack. If the Rebellion is to survive, the Rebels must move their base to another location. Finding that location falls upon the shoulders of Luke and his wingmates.
So far, Luke has spent more time dodging Imperial corvette patrols than he has scouting isolated worlds. The last time he inspected an “abandoned” system, he landed on an Imperial outpost. So, Luke has decided to explore the possibilities in the Sil’Lume asteroid belt. Although far from deserted, Sil’Lume has several things to recommend it. First, the heavy mining commerce might cover Rebel military traffic. Second, literally a million planetoids occupy the same orbital plane. Even if the Empire tracks a Rebel ship to the system, they will need weeks or even months to find the base. Third, the Rebels can camouflage the base as a mining operation, conceal it in a deep mine, or disguise it in one of a hundred other ways.
But Sil’Lume does have one drawback, and it has just found Luke. “Hands on the table, boy!” the general commands. His voice carries a spiteful edge. Three stormtroopers point blaster rifles at Luke, but they clearly do not expect him to resist the general’s order. The other three train their weapons on the human with the firey red-brown eyes.
The two prospectors to either side of Luke slide away, careful to keep their own appendages in sight. One miner is a burly human with a full salt-and-pepper beard, a flushed red face, and a huge round nose. The other being Luke does not recognizel two heavy horns curl away from its sloping forehead and canine muzzle.
“I’m not going to tell you again!” the general barks.
The charismatic human nods to Luke, as if saying, “Do as he says.”
If Luke draws his blaster, Click Here
If Luke places his hands on the table, Click Here