After getting a little rest—about four hours—I headed to the bridge. We were due to reach the final destination of our journey soon.
"Sir, the shuttle is ready. Two platoons of clones are awaiting orders," Blam reported. "ARC flight is prepared for launch at any moment."
"Excellent, Marshal Commander. Simply excellent."
"Sir, permission to speak?" I turned toward O'Connor.
"Yes?"
"General. Permission to take the shuttle's controls?"
I considered it. Hm. Why not? A bad feeling… which means trouble is inevitable. And the Zeltron—aside from Ahsoka and me—is the best pilot we have. A shuttle isn't a starfighter; it requires finesse and the proper training.
"Permission granted."
"We're exiting hyperspace!" Cerri announced. "Sir, we've reverted four hundred kilometers from the planet—that's the established safety perimeter here. Beyond that begins Jabba's territory…"
"Dead ahead: eight Gozanti-class cruisers and forty-eight fighters."
"Sir, they're requesting our purpose and intentions," the operators reported in rapid succession.
"Inform them we've arrived on a diplomatic mission," I replied, casting a glance at the viewing screen.
Tatooine… impossible not to recognize that sea of sand. Since the Infinite Empire fell into oblivion, this place has remained unchanged. As the locals say: only the sand never changes, everything else is fleeting. To the rest of the Galaxy, Tatooine is just another backwater hole on the rim. Beyond it—only Pzob. To me, though, it's a legendary world where everything began. Twice over.
"Lichtendal, Blam. Everything should go smoothly, but… if we don't check in, forget protocol and send two companies under fighter cover."
"Yes, General," Blam assured me. "I've already prepared for that possibility."
I focused and reached out to my Padawan.
Ahsoka.
Yes, Master?
Grab the little Hutt and head to the hangar. Time to return him to his daddy.
On my way.
***
After plowing a furrow through the sand nose-first, the shuttle finally ground to a halt.
"Fucking piece of shit!" I spat onto the cockpit floor. "Everyone alive?"
Ahsoka was trying to calm Rotta, who whimpered softly. All this mess had clearly frightened him.
"One trooper from Eighth Squad is injured—a broken arm," the clone captain reported. "One of the walkers is heavily damaged."
"Two weapons operators are wounded," the Zeltron added as she exited the cockpit.
"Grace, can you get the shuttle airborne?"
"No, sir. The engines are damaged. And… the enemy is jamming us."
Damn it. Those blasted fighters…
At first, everything had gone smoothly. We'd reached the atmosphere and begun our descent. Then they struck. From below. Four Belbullab fighters wiped out our escort with missile volleys in seconds, then turned on us. Hugging the dunes, we managed to shoot down three of them—the shuttle's twin turret could give shit even a light corvette a run for its money, let alone starfighters. Yet our luck held partly because they were trying to cripple us, not destroy us, and so limited themselves to blaster fire. They needed the Huttlet alive.
The fourth fighter, left alone, abandoned attempts to disable us and fired four missiles, intent on finishing the job. It had almost succeeded…
"Captain. Remain here and await reinforcements. See to the wounded. The fighters were supposed to return to the ship… in fifteen minutes. They won't. So we'll get help from orbit. We, however, will proceed toward Jabba's palace."
"Yes, sir."
After taking a few steps, I glanced back in surprise.
"You're coming with us, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir. I'll keep you company," O'Connor nodded.
"Close ranks!" Puck barked. "Don't fall behind!"
***
Quinlan Vos snorted irritably as a gust of wind flung a handful of sand into his face. Count Dooku had pulled him off Quila and sent him here—to Tatooine.
"I assume the fighters succeeded?"
"Yes, sir. The shuttle and its escort were shot down. They're twenty-eight kilometers from the Hutt's palace," the OOM droid replied, tilting its head.
"Any movement?"
"Forty-one organic lifeforms are crossing the desert. One of them is a Hutt. They've advanced ten kilometers. Thirty-nine remain at the crash site. One moment… A combat walker has been detected at the crash site. Orders, sir?" the droid inquired.
"Excellent. That must be Vikt. Leave those at the crash site alone. The ones crossing the desert… I'll handle them myself."
The Kiffar swung onto his speeder bike and sped off in the direction indicated by the reconnaissance droid.
I think this will be a simple task. Perhaps I can even persuade this Jedi to hand over the Hutt voluntarily. And, in the process, turn him to our side. His Padawan is devoted to him and will surely follow. As for this Vikt… he does not seem like a Jedi. He has no place in the Order — just as I once had none. I think he'll understand my reasoning—and make an excellent ally. The data provided by the Count speaks for itself. Still… why didn't Dooku come here himself?