By Moriah Organa
Summary: Luke meets somebody who will be important to his future.
Disclaimer: Setting, situations and the characters of Luke Skywalker
and Wedge Antilles are the property of George Lucas, no infringment
of his rights intended.
Something wheeped past Luke's ear. Instinctively he hit dirt,
rolling into the shelter of a convenient doorway before looking over his shoulder.
A tailess reptiloid lay huddled in the middle of the alley. The
glittering point of a Ceetal dark centered neatly between its eyes.
A pistol of unfamiliar form lay near its half open hand.
"He was about to put a needle in your back." a deep soft voice explained.
Luke jerked his head around and saw who'd thrown the dart.
A big man, not quite two meters but close, broad shoulders and
muscular arms set off by a sleeveless wrap shirt with a spacer's
vest over it and leather armbands and wrist guards. His long dark
mane was tied back from a broad face with bumpy leonine profile and short beard.
He nodded towards the dead assassin. "Anybody you know?"
Straightening from his crouch Luke moved closer for a look, shook
his head. "Never saw him before."
"Amateurs don't carry that kind of weapon." his rescuer warned.
"Looks like you've managed to attract professional attention, my young friend"
Damn. He'd been made then, there could be no other explanation.
Luke looked uncertainly at the man who'd saved him. A typical gypsy
spacer except he wore no gun. Dispite the other's size and evident
lethality Luke didn't feel at all threatened, or even intimidated.
"I'd watch my back if I were you." the other continued. "Better
still, get somebody else to watch it for you."
"Like you?" Luke heard himself say.
Eyebrows rose slightly, a smile warming the deepset eyes. "I
might be open to an offer." He held out a large square hand. "Deak Sojourner."
"Luke Sk - uh - Vaygan."
Deak courteously pretended not to notice the near slip.
Of course Wedge went ballistic. "Are you crazy, Luke!? You don't
know anything about this guy -"
"I know he saved my life. And - I've got a feeling about him...."
his voice trailed off. It had been over a year since the Death Star,
since Ben's death. There'd been so much else to do and learn he'd
all but forgotten those few lessons in the Force. But his feelings
were strong and clear. Deak was somebody he could trust.
"You got a feeling!" Wedge obviously didn't share his confidence.
"Luke, this screams of set up!"
Maybe. But Luke knew it wasn't. "Either way I've been made. I
want you and the others to stay clear of me."
"But -"
"That's an order, Wedge. The mission comes first. This could
be an advantage, I can be a diversion for the rest of you." he switched
off before his second could argue further.
Halfway into his cover story Luke stopped, looked at his audience,
sitting relaxed and serene across the cantina table. "You're not buying a word of this are you?
The smile in Deak's eyes spread to his mouth. "No need to tell
me anything you don't want to. All I need to know is what you're going to do now."
Luke blinked a little. Deak's attitude indicated either great
trust, indifference - or that he already knew a lot more than Luke
thought. Still his instincts insisted Deak could be trusted so:
"Hopefully I'm the only one who's been spotted. I want to keep it
that way. Make 'em focus on me and miss the others."
"So the idea is to be noticed?"
"Exactly. I want to worry them."
"Without getting killed in the process."
"That's where you come in." Luke found himself grining for no
apparent reason, made himself stop. The real mission was to secure
new sources of supply; food, medicines, parts, that kind of thing.
So it would be a good idea to go after something more sinister..."You
wouldn't happen to know where the local black market for weapons is, would you?"
Somehow he wasn't at all surprised when Deak said yes.
Luke tried to stroll casually down the noisome little streek.
Open fronted shops displayed cheap gimcracks as a cover for their real stock in trade.
His fellow shoppers were an unsalubrious lot, a motley of sinister
looking aliens and even more sinister humans. Touchy too, as such
people often are, quarrels and fistfights were constantly breaking
out around them - but nobody assailed Luke with so much as a hard look.
Possibly because he was no longer an obvious greenhorn with an
invisible 'kick me' stenciled on the back of his tunic but more likely because of Deak.
He ambled easily alongside, two meters of serene enigmatic muscle.
Unaggressive, unthreatening but big enough and powerful enough to
make even the most belligerent think twice about tackling him or his companion.
The weapons were on display in windowless back rooms accessible
only to those who used the right catch phrases. Luckily Deak knew them all.
"Most are based on gambling." He'd explained. "If you're looking
for weaponry you'd say something like; 'I need to shorten some long
odds.' or 'I need some extra counters for a game I'm putting together.'"
"Are you a betting man, Deak." Luke asked, almost involuntarily.
The other chuckled. "Very good. In Smuggler's argot you've just
asked if I'm open to illegal commissions."
"Are you?" Luke persisted.
"Depends on what laws I'm expected to break." was the answer.
Luke was sure the two of them were shattering any number of Imperial
statutes just by looking at the wares for sale. Blasters were the
least of it. There were guns that shot poison needles or silica
pellets that shattered inside the victim shreading internal organs.
Stasis guns, pain amplifiers, energy drainers...things that made
Luke feel sick to look at them. He'd never realized there were so
many nasty ways to kill other beings.
Deak seemed to sense his reaction, put a steadying hand on his
shoulder. Luke took a deep breath and pointed to a display at random.
"How much for thirty of those?"
"You bargain very well." Deak observed as they headed back through
emptying, dusk shadowed streets to his hostel.
Luke shrugged. "I've had a lot of practice." It had been no different
from dickering with Jawas, maybe even an little easier. Not that
he'd actually bought anything of course. Just indicated interest.
And, he hoped, worried whoever it was watching him.
Suddenly Deak shoved him against the alley wall at the same time
spinning and drawing something from inside his vest.
A shimmering, silvery staff appeared as if by magic in his hand
flashed down in front of Luke deflecting a greenish stun bolt, then
pivoted in Deak's hands to make a vertical overhand strike at the
gun arm of the foremost of three cowled figures shrouded in grey/black
robes that melded into the deepening shadows. His blow turned into
a sideways slice knocking the gunman to the ground.
A second assailant jumped over his companion's prostrate body
right into a jab in the midsection and bent over wheezing. The staff
twirled delivering a knock to the back of the head that laid him beside his friend.
The third man, or whatever, hung back justifiably wary. Deak
faced him, shimmering staff held diagonally before him, alert but
relaxed. Suddenly the man pulled a gun from beneath his robes and
fired - not a blaster bolt but a projectile that expanded into a
luminous net floating down to be caught and cast aside by Deak's
staff. Nonplussed the man hesitated, uncertain what to do next.
And Deak stepped smoothly forward to tap him on the side of his
cowled skull. He fell across his partners.
Luke closed his mouth. Looked down at the blaster in his hand.
He hadn't even had a chance to fire. Re-holstered it.
Deak bent over the fallen gunmen, pulling off the disguising cowls.
"Who are they?" Luke asked, "Imperial Intelligence?"
Deak shook his head. "I think not, Bounty Hunters more likely."
"Are they dead?"
"No, but they'll be out for a good long time." Deak answered
straightening. "Best we're not around when they come to."
"What is that thing?" Luke demanded, eying the staff.
"This?" Deak glanced at it casually, and in a twinkle it had
contracted into a silvery cylinder that fit neatly into his palm.
"A Suuni Bokkan." he continued as Luke gaped. "Particles of heavy
matter in an energy matrix. That's how it changes size. Almost indestructable."
He put a big hand on Luke's shoulder and steered him away from the
fallen Bounty Hunters. Setting a brisk pace.
"I can see why you don't carry a blaster." Luke said, panting
a little as he trotted to keep up with Deak's long stride.
The older man shrugged. "Clumsy, random things blasters. I prefer something less noisy."
Luke blinked. He'd heard those words before - or something like
them. Then it came; Ben's voice saying 'Not as clumsy or random
as a blaster -' in that exact same tone of dry distaste.
"But why would Bounty Hunters be after *me*?" Luke wondered,
sitting cross legged on his bed in his room at the hostel, it just didn't make sense.
"Word is the Empire is very interested in getting it's hands
on the pilot who blew up the Death Star." Deak replied quietly,
from the room's only chair. "and willing to pay a high price for him, alive and unharmed."
"I can understand them wanting to take me out," Luke frowned.
"but why alive? It's not like I know anything about Alliance policy
or plans - I'm just another pilot."
"Why indeed." Deak agreed softly. "Perhaps somebody high in the Empire wants to talk to you."
"Or kill me himself." Luke said grimly.
"I suggest you get off this planet. Staying will only endanger
you, your squadron mates and your mission."
"Maybe so." Luke brooded. "Still, I don't like the idea of deserting them."
"You must do what feels right to you." Deak conceeded.
Another echo '-you must do what you feel is right, of course.'
Luke stared at him. Deak gazed back calmly, giving nothing away. "You know who I am."
The other nodded. Stood up. "Search your feelings and chose your
path. I'll see you in the morning."
He talked like Ben, like a Jedi. "Who are you?"
A pause, and then: "A friend of your father's." Deak turned and
was out of the room before Luke could react. He stared at the closed
door. *A friend of my father's? Another Jedi?*
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