Star Wars - Kenobi

thought.
    Jabe! What was wrong with that kid? So he hated working in the store. She’d been bored, too, at his age but she had to work, and so did he. She could understand his hanging around with the Gaults to let off steam. But the boy was slight—no scrapper like Zedd, no beady-eyed gunslinger like Mullen. Bounty hunting was not in his future. Why risk his neck hunting Tuskens?
    She already knew the answer. The Tuskens had killed his father. Today was an anniversary for Jabe, as well.
    She just hoped she could reach him in time.
    A’Yark screamed in agony.
    The warrior had never run so hard for so long. Sand People knew how to run; the cowardly sun had taught them that much. But there was a reason Tuskens seldom strayed far from their camps and banthas. The gaderffii was a fine weapon to hold for a sprint, but after a distance it became cumbersome, and even the nimblest runner risked a bashed kneecap. A’Yark had slammed both in this chase, further aggravating leg muscles that were already on fire.
    And without their banthas to guide them, green warriors were likely to lose their way. The group ahead had. The foolishness was theirs, but the failure belonged to A’Yark, who’d calculated for a successful raid and an orderly withdrawal. Unless A’Yark turned the fleeing warriors around, all would perish.
    A’Deen had the speed of youth. The newest warrior of the clan had dashed ahead, carrying A’Yark’s warning. The Tuskens had passed through the box canyon known as the False Mouth, thinking it led into The Pillars. A path did exist that led up and out, but only A’Yark knew where it was.
    A silver landspeeder screeched past. The vehicle of the Smiling One.
    I should’ve killed you when I had the chance, A’Yark thought.
    A’Yark dived behind a dark formation on the craggy hillside and watched. More machines followed. Some bore toward the False Mouth. But others parted from the company and headed up the navigable inclines east and west of the gap. A flying machine with angular wings hovered above, just out of rifle range.
    So many settlers. So many vehicles. The Smiling Man’s forces had thwarted A’Yark’s band in the past, killing some and driving the rest away. But this was different. A’Yark had struck at the human in his lair and failed. No quarter would be given.
    A’Yark saw the flier pass between the suns. The elder sun had failed to kill, too; his sentence was a lifetime of running. A’Yark could flee now, and live. But not the rest.
    And A’Yark had sent A’Deen to join them. The last surviving son. The end of the line.
    Many lines are ending. A’Yark cursed the pain and dashed up the hill.
    “You got ’em! You got ’em!”
    Orrin’s face beamed as he clicked off the comlink. The skyhopper had led them well, its operator calling down locations of the Tuskens below. Further confirmation came from the Tuskens’ futile blasterfire into the air, useless attempts to bring the three-winged vessel down.
    A volcanic coulee in the foothills of the Jundland Wastes, Hanter’s Gorge twisted from its wide opening back around two corners. There, it branched off into a dozen steep staircases, most too tall even for a Wookiee to scale. But the eastern and western walls of the canyon were level on top—and the settlers had something the Tuskens didn’t: eyes in the air. The Tuskens had walked into a death chamber.
    “Hang back from the edge,” Orrin ordered the settlers parked nearby. There was no sense drawing fire. “Wait until they try to climb out. Then take ’em.”
    It was already happening. Atop an escarpment jutting into the gorge, another group of settlers was already firing downward, picking off Tuskens like insects on a wall. Orange blasts peppered the cliff face around the nomads. One after another, they howled and fell. More settlers—he recognized Jabe and Veeka among them—fired on those who hit the ground.
    Cheers went up to Orrin’s left as the scene repeated farther up the canyon. Orrin had been reluctant to make a sortie so soon after the oasis attack, but he realized now it was the thing to do. The people needed it. The locals wouldn’t feel the same about the Claim or the Settlers’ Call without something to cauterize the wound. The attack deserved an answer.
    No, this had to happen. And as he casually walked toward the edge, rifle raised, he was surprised how good it felt. He wasn’t alone; he saw the same buoyant spirit in the faces of those around him.