One of the Sand People went over to Corran, cracked him in the head with his gaffi stick--as if the man weren't unconscious enough already--and knelt down to lash Corran's wrists and ankles together with straps of hide.

"Whoa, guys, whoa," Ben said, raising his hands over his head peacefully. "We can talk this out, can't we? There's no need for violence..."

They grunted menacingly.

"I mean, I've got nothing but respect for you, you know?" Ben said. "It is *so* refreshing, in this day and age of blasters and proton torpedoes and superweapons, that there are still folks like you who just like to hit things with big sticks. I *love* that about you guys. So why don't we just--"

His words were cut off as the Tuskens hit him with their big sticks, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

When he finally came to, his first thought was that he'd gone blind. He could see nothing but inky blackness, and it took his addled mind a few moments to realize that he'd simply been blindfolded. He was lying on some kind of thick fur that shifted around beneath him; they must have slung him onto a bantha. He tried to move, found his hands and feet bound. He stopped his movements when someone--he assumed it was the beast's rider--grunted and prodded him in the back with something sharp.

He gave a defeated sigh. This whole "Child of Prophecy" business wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

"Corran?" he called. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

The only answer he got was the mooing of his bantha.

"Corran?" he tried again.

"Ugh..." the older Jedi's voice came from a short distance to the right. "What the--AH! I'M BLIND! BLIND!" He started to weep, then said, "Oh, wait. It's just a blindfold. Heh."

"Glad to see you're keeping your head," Ben said dryly.

"What happened?" Corran asked. "And why do I smell bantha? It's like my bachelor party all over again."

"Well, we've been captured by Tuskens and we're being dragged off to face an uncertain fate--most likely a gruesome one."

There was a pause.

"I blame you," Corran said.

"Me?! How is this my fault?"

"Well, it sure as hell isn't mine!"

"We wouldn't even be in this mess if you hadn't left the keys in the speeder!"

"Okay, all right. Maybe it's not *completely* your fault. Just mostly. But I have a plan."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. But you'll have to handle it--my skills aren't strong enough. Try to reach out with the Force, and touch the mind of your bantha. Try to influence it to turn against the Tuskens and help us escape."

Ben was dubious, but bent his will to the task. Within moments amorphous images and feelings from the beast began to brush against his own mind, and he pushed ever deeper, trying to reach the deepest fathoms of the bantha's consciousness. After a time, he pulled back, retreating into himself.

"It's not going to work," he said. "It's too preoccupied to listen to me."

"Preoccupied?" Corran said. "With what?"

"It's pondering the philisophical and societal ramifications of introducing a Jedi presence into pre-hyperspace civilizations."

Silence from Corran, then, "You're messing with me, aren't you?"

"No, I'm serious," Ben said. "This guy should be teaching at university. It's making my head hurt just thinking about it. Did you have a Plan B?"

"Yes, but it would involve wetting ourselves and crying like little girls."

"I think I'll pass on that."

Time dragged on. Ben's mind cycled through countless different death scenarios that might be waiting for him at the end of this journey--and then, finally, the journey actually ended.

The bantha came to a stop beneath him, and hands grabbed at him, hauling him down. Held up underneath his arms, he was dragged across the sands, then tossed to the ground, sprawling face-first. A *thump* nearby told him that Corran had been dropped as well.

"Ow-ow-ow!" Corran called. "I think I just landed on a rock. Hope Mirax doesn't want any more kids..."

Ben heard a commanding bark come from somewhere up ahead; then a questioning grunt came from behind him--answered by another, more forceful bark from up ahead. Some kind of argument? Then he heard a slicing sound, and suddenly his hands and feet were free. He rose to his hands and knees and tore off his blindfold, squinting at the bright sunlight as he looked around.

He and Corran--who was taking off his own blindfold--were in a wide canyon, tall sandstone cliffs looming all around. Dozens of Sand People stood about, armed and ready. A cave gaped in the cliff face directly ahead of them, and another Tusken--taller, broader, fiercer-looking than the rest, if that were possible--was emerging from it, moving towards them with purposeful strides. Ben started to stand up, scanning for any avenue of escape, but was driven back down to his knees by the nearest Tusken.

"That must be the tribe's chief," Corran said, massaging his wrists as he knelt nearby. "Let me handle this. I know a little Tusken dialect. Maybe I can talk our way out of this."

The chief stopped before them, and another Tusken approached him, handing him Ben and Corran's lightsabers. The chief turned them over in his hands, then tucked them into his belt. He regarded the two Jedi in silence.

Corran cleared his throat, then emitted some grunts and squawks. The Tusken chief cocked his head quizzically. Corran tried again. Then the Tusken said, in liltingly accented Basic, "My good man, you've just told me that my daughter's slippers are urinating on a ronto's nose."

Ben goggled. "You speak Basic?!"

"Quite well, I should think," the Tusken said. He sat on a rock in front of them, crossed his legs, primly smoothed the hem of his robes. "Fancy a spot of tea, chaps?"

They stared at him.

"Oh, come, come," the Tusken said. "What? Did you think all Tuskens are barbaric savages?"

"Well...yeah," Ben said. Corran whapped him in the back of the head and threw him a warning look.

"I can assure you, dear boy, we're not. It's our cousins to the south that are so unpleasant. All that torture and such." The chief shook his head, then leaned forward and added conspiratorially, "It's all that inbreeding, you know."

Ben nodded, trying to look as if he understood.

"But enough of that," the chief said, clapping his hands to his knees. "You two look famished. Please, eat. Then we can talk."

The chief gestured to another Tusken, who brought forward elegant-looking platters of food and drink, setting them on the ground in front of the two men. Ben looked at Corran, who simply shrugged, then the two of them fell on the meal like ravenous nexu.

When the food was gone, and Ben was patting his stomach with a contented sigh, the chief said, "Now then, might I have your names, good sirs?"

"Corran Horn," Corran said. He crooked a thumb at Ben. "And he's Ben Skywalker. And you are...?"

"My name is--" the Tusken emitted a series of growls and squeals that made Ben's ears ache. Then he finished by adding, "But you can call me Bob."

"Bob?" Ben asked. "What the hell kind of name is Bob?"

Corran whapped him in the head again.

"It's a name of great spiritual signifigance to my people," Bob said. "It's spelled the same way backwards and forwards, you see. It represents the loop of infinity."

"Oh. Deep, man."

"Quite," Bob said. "Now, how is it you two ended up stranded in the desert? It's hardly a vacation spot."

"We, uh...lost our speeder," Corran said.

"Ah," Bob nodded. "Well, in due time I'll be happy to have my scouts escort you to the nearest settlement."

"Hey," Ben said, "that'd be gr--wait, what do you mean 'in due time'?"

"Well..." Bob said, "since you've been kind enough to accept my hospitality, I was hoping that you'd do something for me in return."

Ben exchanged a look with Corran.

"And what would that be?" Corran asked.

"To the east of here lives a krayt dragon that's been preying on my people. My best warriors have been unable to defeat it. But with your Jedi skills..."

"We get the picture," Ben said. He wasn't too keen on the idea, but they *did* owe the Tuskens their lives.

"Let me guess," Corran said. "It's the biggest, fiercest krayt dragon that's ever lived?"

"Yes, how ever did you know?"

Corran shrugged. "Isn't that how these things *always* work?"

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