RAXUS PRIME, THE JUNK FIELDS, PRESENT DAY.
Trini
Halrixien, grad student, gripped the controls of the old speeder truck; had her knuckles been showing from beneath her khaki fur, they would have been white. The Amaran weaved her vehicle between the random mounds of scrap metal that littered the floor of the junk canyon, occasionally ramping off the hulls of half-buried old starships and plunging through tunnels created by hollowed-out engine assemblies. Jagged, rusty metal whizzed by her at hundreds of kilometers per hour, and still she kept her foot practically welded to the floor, willing just a little more speed out of her vehicle, which was nearly old and decrepit enough to be part of the landscape around it.
Everyone was dead.
Trini wasn't sure how they had missed her, but they had. The bandits had swarmed out of the hills, swiftly overrunning the dig site and gunning down anyone who resisted. After they ran out of people willing to fight, they started in on those who did not. They were thorough; everyone was finished off with two blaster shots at minimum, and then checked to make sure they would stay down. The brutal, execution-style killings did make the little Amaran wonder, was this the sort of thing bandits usually did? She didn't think so.
In the commotion, Trini had found a hiding place, one small enough that she doubted anyone would think to look for someone there, and they hadn't. She had only been able to watch what came next; fear had paralyzed her, and then what would she have been able to do? Run out and try to save her friends, and be gunned down alongside them?
The bandits had picked over the artifacts the rest of the team had excavated, but only seemed to take things the looked shiny or interesting to the untrained eye, consistent with bandits. They had also, however, taken the ancient computer system that had been dug up the previous day; it was so large and heavy that they had needed a bulk cargo hauler to do it, too. Why had they bothered with that?
Regardless, Trini had waited until the bandits began to leave, which took most of the day. After she had judged the camp was deserted once more, she reemerged from her hiding place, and had a look around.
The bandits - if, indeed, simple bandits they were - had stolen or wrecked every ship and repulsorcraft they could find, save the one Trini now drove, which she assumed had only been spared because it blended in with the rest of the junk so well. She had reluctantly checked on the bodies of her colleagues; everyone, so far as she could tell, was thoroughly dead. After finding the remaining repulsortruck, she had decided to set out for the nearest inhabited outpost, a metal recycling complex known as Reclamation 00-00-13. It was several hundred kilometers away, but if Trini hurried she could make it there before nightfall; it was a poor idea to try and travel the junk fields at night.
She was thinking of shelter and safety, and whether or not she would be able to keep down a hot meal after the day's events, when a blaster bolt whizzed by her head, striking sparks off an old transport hull nearby. Letting out a squeal of terror, the Amaran looked over her shoulder to see a group of speeders gaining behind her, their riders all too familiar...
Everyone was dead.
Trini wasn't sure how they had missed her, but they had. The bandits had swarmed out of the hills, swiftly overrunning the dig site and gunning down anyone who resisted. After they ran out of people willing to fight, they started in on those who did not. They were thorough; everyone was finished off with two blaster shots at minimum, and then checked to make sure they would stay down. The brutal, execution-style killings did make the little Amaran wonder, was this the sort of thing bandits usually did? She didn't think so.
In the commotion, Trini had found a hiding place, one small enough that she doubted anyone would think to look for someone there, and they hadn't. She had only been able to watch what came next; fear had paralyzed her, and then what would she have been able to do? Run out and try to save her friends, and be gunned down alongside them?
The bandits had picked over the artifacts the rest of the team had excavated, but only seemed to take things the looked shiny or interesting to the untrained eye, consistent with bandits. They had also, however, taken the ancient computer system that had been dug up the previous day; it was so large and heavy that they had needed a bulk cargo hauler to do it, too. Why had they bothered with that?
Regardless, Trini had waited until the bandits began to leave, which took most of the day. After she had judged the camp was deserted once more, she reemerged from her hiding place, and had a look around.
The bandits - if, indeed, simple bandits they were - had stolen or wrecked every ship and repulsorcraft they could find, save the one Trini now drove, which she assumed had only been spared because it blended in with the rest of the junk so well. She had reluctantly checked on the bodies of her colleagues; everyone, so far as she could tell, was thoroughly dead. After finding the remaining repulsortruck, she had decided to set out for the nearest inhabited outpost, a metal recycling complex known as Reclamation 00-00-13. It was several hundred kilometers away, but if Trini hurried she could make it there before nightfall; it was a poor idea to try and travel the junk fields at night.
She was thinking of shelter and safety, and whether or not she would be able to keep down a hot meal after the day's events, when a blaster bolt whizzed by her head, striking sparks off an old transport hull nearby. Letting out a squeal of terror, the Amaran looked over her shoulder to see a group of speeders gaining behind her, their riders all too familiar...
NEARBY...
ZZ-4A4 had been waiting a long, long time for his Master to return.
The ancient droid barely remembered the crash that had stranded him in the junk canyon, or the space battle that had damaged the ship and sent droid and pilot hurtling down toward... where was this, exactly? ZZ-4A4 had to sift his aging memory banks to recall the name Raxus Prime. Yes, Raxus Prime, the junk planet.
Was ZZ-4A4 junk, too?
No, no, that wasn't right. The droid was waiting for someone. Waiting for the Master to return. The Master had survived the crash as well, damaged but functional. They had been functional enough to climb out of the ship, at any rate. They had gone for help, yes, the Master had promised they were going for help; ZZ-4A4 would have gone, but the crash had jammed him in his socket, and he could not move. But that was alright! The Master had promised they would come back with help, and they would have tools and fuel and spare parts, and the ship would be fixed, and ZZ-4A4 would be fixed, and all would be well again.
How long ago had the Master left? They should have been back now, shouldn't they?
ZZ-4A4 put the thought from his circuits. Those sorts of thoughts drained power, and the Master would need ZZ-4A4 functional when they returned!
It was time to scan the perimeter again.
ZZ-4A4 powered up his single photoreceptor, and peered out of the dirty canopy of the Silver Bolide, his home for as long as he could remember. Most days, nothing changed; occasionally a drone freighter would drop off a new shipment of scrap, changing the contours of the landscape slightly, but that didn't happen often.
Today, however, there was something different.
ZZ-4A4 could see vehicles, working vehicles, rushing toward him down the canyon! That in itself was not unprecedented, but ZZ-4A4 could see weapons fire coming from several of them! Looking on in surprise and interest, the old droid counted 3 open-topped passenger craft, apparently chasing a 4th, some kind of cargo hauler with a single passenger aboard. ZZ-4A4 focused in on the lead vehicle, the corroded servos of his photoreceptor optics grinding as they zoomed...
ZZ-4A4's data-brain skipped a cycle at what he saw.
Positive ID was impossible from this distance, but that looked like the Master in the speeder-truck, being chased and fired on by bandits! ZZ-4A4's cognitive matrix rushed with emotion; the Master had returned! If it was indeed the Master; the droid strained its sensor systems, trying to verify...
As he watched, a blaster bolt struck the repulsortruck's drive unit, sending it spinning. ZZ-4A4 squawked in alarm, his ancient vocabulator grill fountaining dust after untold years of disuse.
ZZ-4A4 had to act. Verification of the Master was not possible at this range, but if whoever it was in the speeder was killed by the bandits, verification would be impossible either way. If it was the Master, ZZ-4A4 would have failed to protect them, and that was not acceptable.
Inside the old ship, a targeting computer hummed to life...
The ancient droid barely remembered the crash that had stranded him in the junk canyon, or the space battle that had damaged the ship and sent droid and pilot hurtling down toward... where was this, exactly? ZZ-4A4 had to sift his aging memory banks to recall the name Raxus Prime. Yes, Raxus Prime, the junk planet.
Was ZZ-4A4 junk, too?
No, no, that wasn't right. The droid was waiting for someone. Waiting for the Master to return. The Master had survived the crash as well, damaged but functional. They had been functional enough to climb out of the ship, at any rate. They had gone for help, yes, the Master had promised they were going for help; ZZ-4A4 would have gone, but the crash had jammed him in his socket, and he could not move. But that was alright! The Master had promised they would come back with help, and they would have tools and fuel and spare parts, and the ship would be fixed, and ZZ-4A4 would be fixed, and all would be well again.
How long ago had the Master left? They should have been back now, shouldn't they?
ZZ-4A4 put the thought from his circuits. Those sorts of thoughts drained power, and the Master would need ZZ-4A4 functional when they returned!
It was time to scan the perimeter again.
ZZ-4A4 powered up his single photoreceptor, and peered out of the dirty canopy of the Silver Bolide, his home for as long as he could remember. Most days, nothing changed; occasionally a drone freighter would drop off a new shipment of scrap, changing the contours of the landscape slightly, but that didn't happen often.
Today, however, there was something different.
ZZ-4A4 could see vehicles, working vehicles, rushing toward him down the canyon! That in itself was not unprecedented, but ZZ-4A4 could see weapons fire coming from several of them! Looking on in surprise and interest, the old droid counted 3 open-topped passenger craft, apparently chasing a 4th, some kind of cargo hauler with a single passenger aboard. ZZ-4A4 focused in on the lead vehicle, the corroded servos of his photoreceptor optics grinding as they zoomed...
ZZ-4A4's data-brain skipped a cycle at what he saw.
Positive ID was impossible from this distance, but that looked like the Master in the speeder-truck, being chased and fired on by bandits! ZZ-4A4's cognitive matrix rushed with emotion; the Master had returned! If it was indeed the Master; the droid strained its sensor systems, trying to verify...
As he watched, a blaster bolt struck the repulsortruck's drive unit, sending it spinning. ZZ-4A4 squawked in alarm, his ancient vocabulator grill fountaining dust after untold years of disuse.
ZZ-4A4 had to act. Verification of the Master was not possible at this range, but if whoever it was in the speeder was killed by the bandits, verification would be impossible either way. If it was the Master, ZZ-4A4 would have failed to protect them, and that was not acceptable.
Inside the old ship, a targeting computer hummed to life...
Trini squealed in fear as a bolt hit the repulsortruck, sending it spinning on its axis for a few meters, the drive system beginning to spark and belch smoke. The young Amaran fought for control, but it was no use; she slammed headlong into the base of a junk heap, bouncing painfully against the crash harness she had had the presence of mind to fasten earlier, preventing her from being tossed into a pile of rusty, razor-edged scrap. This was small comfort, however, as her pursuers angled in on her, readying their weapons for the killing shot...
Trini was desperately extricating herself from the crashed speeder when there was the report of what sounded like a laser cannon, and one of the bandit speeders vanished in a ball of fire.
Trini was desperately extricating herself from the crashed speeder when there was the report of what sounded like a laser cannon, and one of the bandit speeders vanished in a ball of fire.
Some of the weapons still worked. That was good.
The Silver Bolide, ZZ-4A4 knew, was equipped with 4 light laser cannons and a concussion missile launcher. 3 of the cannons appeared to be non-functional, either due to age or the crash, but 1 still functioned, and that was enough to protect the Master. Through ancient circuit connections, ZZ-4A4 communed with the old targeting computer, muzzy after so long powered down, but game as ever for a fight when called to action. The Silver Bolide's firing angle was poor, both droid and computer knew, but if the bandits would just cross the ship's line of fire once or twice more...
There!
The Silver Bolide, ZZ-4A4 knew, was equipped with 4 light laser cannons and a concussion missile launcher. 3 of the cannons appeared to be non-functional, either due to age or the crash, but 1 still functioned, and that was enough to protect the Master. Through ancient circuit connections, ZZ-4A4 communed with the old targeting computer, muzzy after so long powered down, but game as ever for a fight when called to action. The Silver Bolide's firing angle was poor, both droid and computer knew, but if the bandits would just cross the ship's line of fire once or twice more...
There!
A second bandit speeder was destroyed by a laser blast, which Trini could now see had come from one of the junk heap further up the canyon. The young Amaran watched in bewilderment as the 3rd speeder turned to flee back the way it had come, only for Trini to hear a hissing sound, and barely register a fast-moving blur trailing a plume of smoke before it connected with the last bandit craft and detonated. The concussion missile utterly obliterated Trini's pursuer, and it struck the Amaran as being a bit like using a blaster to kill a bloat-fly.
Damned effective, though.
It took a few moments for Trini to realize that she had just witnessed a dozen people get vaporized in front of her. It would have traumatized her, if she had not seen worse horrors only a few hours before.
Trini looked cautiously in the direction of the enemy fire, when she heard a mechanical voice ring out over what sounded like a very old and badly maintained PA system.
"Master! Is that you, Master?!"
Damned effective, though.
It took a few moments for Trini to realize that she had just witnessed a dozen people get vaporized in front of her. It would have traumatized her, if she had not seen worse horrors only a few hours before.
Trini looked cautiously in the direction of the enemy fire, when she heard a mechanical voice ring out over what sounded like a very old and badly maintained PA system.
"Master! Is that you, Master?!"