The Adventures of the Crimson Hawk, Part 5

Rusty looked over his shoulder just in time to see one of Vader's goons sweep an unconscious Leia into his arms. “Damn it all to hell!” He started back towards the fair, but Cedric grabbed his arm. “Let go of me, you walkin' pile of nerves!”

“We have to get these blueprints to...well, to somebody.” He sniffled. “Or everything Her Grace and Miss Jyn and Captain Andorez and poor Allan fought for will be in vain.”

“Yeah, for the first time in your life, you're probably right.” The shorter man stumbled towards the path leading back towards the main road. “I think I know the best way outta here. The Junk Pickers.”

“Them?” Cedric wrinkled his nose. “The Junk Pickers are dirty, messy, nasty rapscallions. I know the Senator tolerates them because they keep debris from piling up, but must they be so disgusting?”

Rusty was breathing hard when they finally made it to the back of the stone fortress. “If you spent all your time in a junkyard, you wouldn't exactly be smelling like roses.”

Indeed, there were piles of old junk – a rusted bed frame, a broken chair, a grease-clogged engine that had seen better days, crates of tarnished tools and dusty bottles – laying by the back door. The two men managed to dive around a corner just as a massive, rickety old cart came bouncing up the path, drawn by two ponies with shaggy, tangled manes.

The men who drove the cart bore close resemblances to their horses. They too had shaggy, unkempt manes and beards. Their yellowed goggles and jowly faces were so covered in dirt, it was impossible to tell how old or young they were. The six men spoke in a high, rather garbled Polish dialect. Their clothing was the same worn by all male peasants – vests, blouses, and tight trousers, rather like a less ornate and darker version of the Crimson Hawk's outfits. Their high black boots were cracked and scuffed, and at least two had newspaper stuffed into tattered toes.

“Come on.” As the Junk Pickers went through the tools and the bottles, Rusty grabbed Cedric's arm and tugged him to the back of the carriage. There were heaps of crates and ancient, damaged furniture, clocks, and parts under heavy cotton tarps. Rusty shoved Cedric under one of the tarps near the front, then ducked under himself.

They went under just in time. Rusty lifted a corner of the tarp, watching as the Junk Pickers tossed the crates, engine, and bed spring onto the carriage. The weight of the iron bed frame caused the carriage to leap into the air...and nearly knocked the duo back onto the dry road.

“Do you know where this is going?” Cedric winced as a broken spring from the bed frame stabbed him in the side. “We must get back to Senator Mothma with these plans as quickly as possible. She might be able to round up an army to rescue poor Duchess Leia.”

“Shh!” Rusty threw his small, fat hand over his friend's thin lips. “We're not goin' to Chalindria Court. The junk yard is near the harbor. We'll get off in town.”

“But that's nowhere near the Senator!” Cedric groaned. “We're doomed. How did I let you drag me into this mess?”

“Shut up.” Rusty pulled the tarp more tightly over them. “One of my employers is Sir Benjamin Kenton. Ben was in the Alliance Wars. What he doesn't know about rescuin' people ain't worth knowin'. If he doesn't have a plan, Henry n' the kid probably will.”

“I hope you're right.” Cedric tried to wiggle his lanky body away from the sharp metal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As Rusty and Cedric bounced along in the Junk Pickers' carriage, Henry Solo and Charles Bacca were enjoying lunch in one of Henry's favorite taverns on the Harbor, one he had frequented in his pirating days. It was barely more than a shack, with walls made from rusted corrugated tin and a roof of scrap metal, and the clientele consisted of pirates, salty old sailors, and crusty soldiers with many a tale to tell, but they served the best ale and the crispiest fried river trout in Naboo.

“Five thousand.” Henry laughed, studying the contents of the velvet bag in his hand. “We got five thousand for selling those jewels from the ball.” He tugged at another velvet bag on his waist. “And at least another three thousand from picking pockets at the fair.” He shrugged. “Some of this will go into food for the peasants. Keep the kid happy. Some of this is gonna go back into the Falcon.” He tucked a smaller bag into his pocket. “Most of it is gonna pay Huttman back. I only need a few thousand more, and we'll be done with him for good.”

Charles glared at him under his bushy brown beard. “You're a fool if you think Huttman will let you off the hook just 'cause you paid him five years after the fact. He was after you before that, and he's still after you. He never liked that you wouldn't agree to be one of his stooges.”

“I don't work for anyone, not even Huttman.” Henry shook his finger at Charles. “I'm my own man. Always.”

“Tell that to Huttman.” Charles stood, his grizzled head almost brushing the low ceiling. “I'm going to get us both drinks. Usual Corellian ale?”

“Yeah. Two fingers. I think I'm gonna need it after that mess in town.” He watched his towering valet as he ambled to the bar, stopping to flirt with a waitress. Henry settled for leaning back and inspecting his cash. Soon. Soon, they'd have enough money to leave this tiny, hole-in-the-wall country and all its insane drama. Maybe he could even court that Duchess Leia...nahh, he finally decided. Beautiful duchesses like her didn't court working stiffs with prices on their heads.

He'd just stood to see what was taking Charles so long at the bar when he walked right into the barrel of a tarnished pistol. “Hello there, Solo.” The short, lanky man wore a cheap suit and bowler hat. Blond hair bristled; bug eyes protruded from a narrow face with tiny, disapproving lips. “Going somewhere?”

“As a matter of fact, Gredano,” Henry began as he sat down, “I was just about to send a telegram to your boss. Tell Jenkins...”

“Jenkins is still angry with you, Solo.” Gredano kept his pistol trained at Henry. “He never forgave you for dumping that opium.”

“Even I got boarded at times. Not to mention, I got shot. Do you think I had a choice? Besides, that was five years ago. I'm a legitimate businessman now.” His hand slid slowly under the table, clutching his favorite pearl-handled pistol he'd bought on a trip to London as a cabin boy. “Tell Jenkins...”

“Jenkins is through with your excuses, Solo.” Gredano snorted. “He may only take that rust bucket you call a ship.”

“First of all, don't insult my baby.” Henry glared at him. “Second, he'll touch that ship over my dead body.”

“That's the idea.” Gredano's leer widened. “I've been waiting for this a long time, Solo.”

“Yeah, I'll bet you have.” The back of the room was lit by gunpowder. Before the bartender could screech “No guns!”, Gredano collapsed face-first, a bullet lodged in his chest.

“Sorry about the mess.” Henry tossed him a few coins as he limped out, Charles following. “This should pay to dump him in the nearest cemetery.”

“I just heard from Wedge on the talkers.” Charles held out a long, flat box with a wire at the end and open speakers in the front. “He, Hobbie, and Wes got the Wookies safely over the border, including my father and son.”

“Good.” Henry leaned on his cane as they climbed into the small carriage parked by the alley. “All we have to do is pick up the kid and Ben, finish with the Falcon, and make one more delivery in town.” He gave him the lazy grin. “And we just need to sell these and get the kid where he belongs, and we'll be free to go and pay off Jenkins.”

“I don't know if I like this.” Charles took the reigns. “This leaving business. I feel like we're runnin' out on Luke and Sir Kenton. They need us.”

“Luke doesn't need us. Once he gets where he's going, he'll have a whole army at his disposal, not to mention the old guy.” Henry patted Charles' shoulder. “You'll like the US. I haven't been in Chicago in years.”

“If you say so, Henry.” Charles' tone basically said that this wasn't done, nor would it be until his employer changed his mind. “I think we'd better meet Luke and Kenton at the junkyard, before they start to worry.”

Henry nodded. “Yeah. We should have been there already. I told them I needed to make a stop, but I didn't think Gredono would try to take a pot shot at me.”

“That weren't no pot shot!” Charles squeezed his shoulder. “You were lucky it was dark in there and he couldn't see clearly.”

“It wasn't luck.” Henry's smirk widened. “It was skill.”

His tall bodyguard just sighed. “Sure, Han. Sure.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I'm worried, Ben.” Luke ducked around the the ball. “They should have been here by now. He said he'd meet us at the junk yard as soon as he took care of something.”

“Knowing Solo, what he was taking care of was a drink, or one of his shady 'contacts.'” The former knight sighed. He and Luke rigged up a ball on a rope that one or the other controlled. The ball was one of Ben's special Khyber balls, from his days as a Jedi Guard. It could spit out small, cutting beams of light if hit improperly. Luke dodged it, watching out for those beams of light. “Use the Force, Luke. Concentrate.”

Luke tugged at the goggles. They were Ben's dark goggles, and they were even thicker than the green ones he usually wore. “With these on, I can hardly see! How am I supposed to fight? The ones Han and I wear are bad enough!”

“Your eyes can deceive you, my boy. Don't trust them.” Luke tried to follow the swishing of the ball, but it moved too fast. “My old master Yoda used to say that one has to do, not try.”

The ball ducked behind the red-clad youth. He swirled around, fighting off its light beams. “Yoda? I've heard of a Liang Yoda. He was one of the greatest Jedis who ever lived. I thought he was dead.”

“Oh, he's still very much alive, and as cranky as ever. He retired after the guards were disbanded.” Ben smiled. “One of these days, I'm going to take you to visit him. I think he could teach you more than I ever could. He lives in Dagobah, in the marshes just beyond the southern borders of Naboo.”

“I'd love to. You're the only Jedi I've ever met. I've read about them, but I never saw any.” Luke slashed at the ball, but it jumped back. “I wish I'd know them, or my parents.”

“Your father was a good man once, Luke.” Ben's blue eyes grew weary. “We fought through the Alliance Wars together, him and me and Ashoka. Talk to her, Luke. She remembers him.”

His apprentice looked up from his fighting stance. “My uncle always said he was a merchant seaman on a freighter and died when it sank in a storm. Neither of them would talk about Mother at all, other than she was beautiful and kind.”

“Your mother was delicate, but she could be so stubborn.” Ben chuckled. “It probably what attracted Anakin to her in the first place. She was a firecracker wrapped in Belgian lace. And Anakin...you never knew what he might do at any given time. Our troops respected him, but they also discovered that when you were in his regiment, you expected the unexpected.” He turned his grin to the boy, even though he couldn't see them. “You have a lot of both of them in you, Luke. I see your mother's warmth, and that spark of mechanical genius your father had. He could make a machine do anything.”

Luke lowered his head wistfully for a moment. “They must have been wonderful people.”

“They were good fighters, good friends, and good rulers.” He swung the ball around more viciously. “Perhaps I need to increase the skill level...”

Luke lunged for the ball, but he wasn't quick enough. A small, thin blue light shot him in the rear just as Henry and Charles pulled into the junk yard. Han laughed as he climbed down. “Ain't you a little old to be playin' ball, kid?”

“We're not playing, Solo. We're practicing.” Ben didn't even look up as they sauntered around the mountains of broken furniture and rusted old carriages. “I've told you, the Force isn't a game. It's an energy field. It surrounds us, binds the world together.”

Luke stood for a minute, concentrating. His ears almost seemed to prick, listening for the ball's movements. Swish, swish, sway. The saber flashed, finally reaching its goal. There was a hot sizzle, and the ball dropped to the ground, cut off its rope.

“Good work, Luke!” Ben came from around the derrick. “I knew you could do it.”

The tall businessman in the gold shirt snorted. “I call it luck.”

“In my experience, Solo,” the older man insisted, “there's no such thing as luck.”

“Well, good against one of your little toys is one thing.” Henry picked up the now-inactive rock ball. “Good against the living? That's something else.”

All four men looked up as the Junk Pickers' lumbering, rusty old carriage rolled into the yard. “Hi, fellas.” Henry waved at them. “We're just picking up supplies, like we always do.”

“Mr. Solo!” Rusty and Cedric tumbled out of the back of the carriage. Rusty went right to his employer. “Mr. Solo, they've got her! We have to save her!”

Henry frowned. “Rusty, I thought you were keeping an eye on the engine and smoke machines at the fairgrounds.”

“I covered them. I'll go back for them later.” Rusty pulled out the plans. “They've got her, Mr. Solo. We have to go after her! They'll kill her!”

Luke and Ben had joined them by now, Luke with his light saber under one arm. “Her who?”

“Duchess Leia, Mr. Skywalker.” Cedric brushed off his natty pale gold suit. “Baron Vader captured her during the Crimson Hawk's raid at the fair.” He wiped off his glasses. “I can't abide those Junk Pickers. Disgusting men.”

Rusty smacked his friend in the arm. “Ced, this is serious. Who knows what Vader's gonna do to her? He thinks she still has those plans.” He handed the blueprints to Ben. “She wanted me to give these to you, sir.”

“Yes.” Cedric straightened his straw hat. “They must get to the Reb...to the correct people at once, Sir Kenton, or terrible things may happen, to the Alliance and to the Duchess.”

“The Duchess? Duchess Leia?” Henry made a face. “What's she got to do with all of this?”

“She sent this message along with them. Cedric is her chaperon.” Luke's blue eyes grew wide. “Henry, we have to save her!”

“Whoa!” Henry put up a hand. “Where do you get all this 'we' stuff?”

“Henry, she needs help.” Ben rubbed the back of his head. “I'm getting too old for this sort of adventure, and Luke and the servants can't do it on their own.”

Henry leaned against the small shack in the back of the yard, behind a pile of much-used carriage wheels and rusted springs. “I'm not goin' anywhere, unless it's to sell what we swiped this afternoon.”

“What if they torture her? Or kill her?” Luke waved hands in the air. Henry and Rusty just barely missed being stabbed in the gut by the unlit light sword.

Charles put a hand on his employer's shoulder. “He is right, my friend. Vader could do real harm to that young woman.”

He shrugged the taller man's shoulder off. “Better her than me.”

Luke knew they needed Henry to agree to this. His guardian claimed to have his heart set on leaving, and Luke was all too aware that, even with the shipping doing well, they still needed money. His head shot upwards. Money. He finally turned to Henry, leaning into his ear. “She's rich.”

Now he was interested. “Rich?”

“Rich, powerful.” The young man waved the light sword in his face. “I'll bet there would be a huge reward.”

Ben nodded. “Bigger than you could ever imagine.”

“I don't know.” Henry smirked. “I could imagine quite a bit.”

“You'll get it.” Luke's face spread into a grin. “And more.”

The man in the gold blouse nodded. “I'd better.”

“You will.” Ben tucked the blueprints in a bag around his waist. “I'd suggest we get to the Naberrie Palace grounds, before the Death Star takes off. It'll be far more difficult to rescue Her Grace when it's in the air.”

Cedric's large amber eyes widened further as a roaring, whirring noise streaked over them. “I think it's too late, Sir Kenton. Look!”

Indeed, the shadow of a giant, torpedo-shaped balloon carrying what looked like a massive ship floated over them. The Death Star was even more impressive in the air than it was on the ground. It dwarfed the largest birds, deftly maneuvering around tall buildings and taller trees. The silvery metal casing glittered dully in the late afternoon light.

“There's only one way we're going to catch that ship now.” Henry's smirk grew. “And that's with the Falcon.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said it weren't ready.”

“No better time for a test run.” The tall man with the messy auburn hair lead them to a heap of rubble behind the shack. Everyone else seemed to run under the rubble, Rusty dragging a sharply protesting Cedric along. “All aboard!”