Chapter Twenty-one

The misty, rising ruggedness of the rocky landscape known as the Junduk Wastes started to rise from the horizon. The flat, rocky landscape Skeet had been flying along for the cold, bitter night was now starting to erupt with features. Rocky outcroppings were rising out of the dim light of Tatooine’s twin suns and Skeet, although tired from a long night’s piloting, weaved about them easily.

   “How are you feeling, master Skeet?” Enneight enquired, the small photoreceptor swivelling towards the pilot. Skeet looked at the small lens briefly before turning his eyes back to the route.

   “Not bad,” he replied whilst yawning, finishing the action by smacking his lips and shaking his head, his lips loose and a strange rasping sound escaping his lips. “I might stop in an hour or two.”

He looked around him, no other sign of any other racers in his immediate vicinity. He could see a faint reflection of the rising suns off metal far to his right and a small cloud of dust but it was far too distant to be a threat. In fact, at this range, Skeet couldn’t tell if it was ahead of him or not.

   “I would suggest rest before venturing into the Jundland Wastes,” Enneight suggested, the photoreceptor turning back to the holographic map. “The sandpeople will most likely be a problem and you will need all your wits about you.”

   “How’s the speeder doing, Enneight?”

   “Very well. The sand filters are a little clogged. It may be a good idea to stop and clear them. The cold night aided cooling but in the heat of the day I am concerned of overheating.”

Skeet nodded and slowly depressed the brake pedal. The speeder slowed until it finally came to a stop by a large rock. Skeet pressed a switch and the hood of the speeder folded neatly back like a concertina, lying flat against the back of the vehicle. Even though it was early morning on Tatooine he could already feel the heat.

After a quick gulp of fresh water and a bite from a concentrate, he walked around to the front of the speeder where three large vents had been inserted into the hood. He unclipped each one, taking out a flimsy looking filter and shaking them thoroughly. Out of each one large amounts of dust and sand fell and he coughed as he was engulfed by a cloud of particles.

   “Eurgh,” he grimaced as he slapped the last filter against the side of the speeder. “How’s that, Enneight?”

   “That will suffice. Now may I suggest you get some rest.”

   “Not sure about that. I need to get some kilometres behind me.”

   “Sir, I assure you that the other racers will also require sleep, and if not they will have to stop to care for their speeders, also. I will wake you in two hours.”

With a reluctant sigh Skeet secured the last filter in place and jumped into the cockpit. He ate the rest of the concentrate, a long brown stick that tasted as awful as it looked, and settled, the seat leaning back automatically as Enneight lowered its angle. He slowly started to drift away, the increased humming of the power converters on standby lulling him to sleep.

The speeder rocked from side to side as the wash from a passing landspeeder swept over it. Skeet jerked awake at the sudden movement, a hand reaching out instinctively to steady himself although he was in no danger of falling.

He stared about wildly, trying to remember where he was, and in a second it all came back to him. He stared down the rear thruster exhausts of a heavy-set twin-engine speeder as it rapidly dwindled.

   “What the... Enneight, power up!”

   “But you have only had one hour and fifty three minutes of the agreed two hours rest, sir.”

   “Do it!”

The engines screamed to a high crescendo as Skeet checked the vehicle was ready to go. He grabbed the steering and slammed both feet on the lower pedals.

His head snapped back as the speeder shot away, the headrest raising as Enneight detected the possible damage to his master’s neck. Skeet narrowed his eyes and lowered himself in the seat so that he could utilise the plastiglass windshield to its maximum, reducing any extra drag and allowing the airstream the velocity caused to sweep evenly over the speeder. The craft that had shot past him was way off in the distance and he knew he would be hard pressed to catch up.

It appeared to Skeet a strangely symmetrical-looking rock was growing out of the distance and it was several seconds before he realised it was not a natural feature but a synthetic one. A tall spire-like moisture vaporator, used for drawing the moisture down from Tatooine’s atmosphere, shot past him to his left and he realised he was on a moisture farmer’s land. Other vaporators appeared all around him, spread out over a large area, about thirty metres separating one from the other. He knew he would have no problem avoiding the obstacles. He just hoped he wouldn’t run into their owners.

He wasn’t gaining on the speeder that had passed him but he was keeping it in sight. The mountains of the Junduk Wastes were growing larger in his vision.

As he skirted round a small hill in the empty vastness of the landscape he had to pull hard to swerve around a small vehicle. It was a tiny single-seat scooter, hovering off the ground by a vaporator. A small man, whose features Skeet didn’t see as he was travelling too fast and concentrating on avoiding both scooter and vaporator, jumped back. He was obviously working on the machine and he waved his fist angrily as Skeet’s speeder blew sand all over him and his belongings.

As Skeet levelled out he cast a quick glance back, to see the man still shaking his hand menacingly after the young racer who had trespassed on his farm.

Skeet knew he had entered the Jundland Wastes because the first thing he saw was another racer’s wrecked speeder.

It was as he was entering another twisting canyon surrounded by the rocky hills of the area, which was what this entire location seemed to consist of. It was why the sandpeople, the cloth-swathed and secretive Tusken Raiders, lived here. There were so many canyons to hide in, so many gullies to disappear down.

So many places to set an ambush.

Skeet looked at the wreck and then started to slow. It was a closed top speeder, heavily modified if the huge single engine on its back was anything to judge by. It lay on its side, the roof ripped away by something other than the crash. It was peppered with holes, along its hood and across the one side. It left behind it a long groove in the ground where it had slid to its final resting place.

Skeet slowed further to survey the damage. It had survived the crash rather well but appeared to have been stripped after. There was no sign of the pilot, although there was a small blaster pistol lying by the vehicle. Several blaster marks scored the rocks around the wreck.

   “Sandpeople,” Skeet whispered and hit the accelerators before he changed his mind about entering the canyons further.

The comlink Driss Cotta had loaned him suddenly buzzed, shocking Skeet from his swirling thoughts. He tapped the top of it and said,

   “Driss?”

   “Skeet, how are you doing?”

   “Not bad. Just found a stripped Venger six-seven here.”

   “Yeah, I saw that an hour ago. Bad luck, that.”

   “An hour ago?” Skeet exclaimed. “How far ahead are you?”

   “About an hour, Skeet, figure it out. How’s the speeder holding up?”

   “Excellent. Bit of sand contamination but it’s fine. How’s yours?”

   “I’m overheating on a thruster but I’ve got a good two hours on it yet. I’m going to stop and replace it, then.”

Skeet smiled.

    “Big job, that. I might catch you up, that’ll take a while.”

   “Not the way I fit them. Oh, and don’t go through Beggar’s Canyon.”

   “Why not?”

   “Because there’s a couple of the locals here blasting about in skyhoppers and shooting at the local wildlife. I skirted past it.”

   “Got it. I was passed by a fast SoroSuub Skimmer a while ago. Keep an eye out for it, it’s got quite a pace and doesn’t mind getting close.”

   “I read you. Oops. Gotta go. I’m being tailed.” The comlink went dead and Skeet tapped it off.

The canyon turned off to the left and Skeet followed it, wondering whether the route he had chosen would take him out of the five-kilometre corridor. He checked the holographic map and saw he was well within the limit.

The end of the canyon came into sight. So did a dead end.

Skeet groaned and tapped the steering controls to put the vehicle into reverse. He looked back over his shoulder as he started to go back. He put it back in forward and turned the vehicle right to head down a narrow pass just off the canyon.

   “Have you got a map of this place, Enneight?”

   “Unfortunately not, sir. I’m not sure whether a detailed survey of this area exists. It was Master Yard’s intention to acquire a map in Mos Eisley.”

With a deep sigh Skeet tried not to think about Brey.

    “Okay. I guess we’ll just have to do this the hard way.”