Star Wars: The Jedi Revolt

Chapter Five: The Force Denied

Taga Vazorr lifted the black, egg-like shell off the ground. The coarse outer shell of the melon felt brittle in her hands, as though it could break at any moment, but her experience had taught her that it was far more durable than first impressions implied. These black melons were some of the only plant life to grow in the unforgiving sands of the Judland Wastes. Her people had drunk the milk inside as their sole source of hydration for eons. Outsiders disliked the taste, but there were ways to enrich its flavor.

Ways her people didn't share.

Taga rotated the melon gently to listen to the milk inside swoosh about. This one was good. She brushed the sand off its exterior as best she could, and placed it gently on the basket she was carrying on her back.

She wore the attire of most Ghorfas. She had a tan cloak that covered her entire body from the unforgiving Tatooine sun. She would normally be wearing a mask to retain moisture as well as to keep the stinging sands out. The wind was surprisingly gentle today, however, and so she wore nothing. She took pleasure in the sensation of the wind as it brushed up against her naked russet-colored face.

Ghorfas did not do such things. It was shameful to show her face, especially as a woman, but she was alone collecting melons on the outskirts of her village. There was no one around to offend, and Taga loved the feeling of the wind. It is was why she had volunteered to collect melons today.

Something in her bones had told her it was going to be a good day for wind.

She was supposed to be helped by a friend named Cenni, but today she was off with a suitor. Her family wanted her to be paired soon, and this opportunity sounded like a good one. Chieftan Ral was strict with work rotations, and so Taga was covering for Cenni as a favor.

It was dangerous to be out alone, though, even this close to the village. She had taken a gaffi stick for protection—a long metal staff tipped with a pointed blade on one side, and a blunt edge on the other. Taga holding it, as a non-warrior, was another taboo.

Her knowing how to use it worse so.

"Taga," called out a voice in the distance. It was Hikka, Cenni's grandmother, who Taga assumed had been sent to help her bring the melons back to the tribe. She wore a jeweled mask and was holding the reins of a bantha. The beast was a runt named Zeko. His brown fur darker than average, and one of its horns unusually straight.

Taga did not bother to hide her unmasked face from Hikka. She knew Taga's proclivities, and would not share them with anyone--thought they undoubtedly made her uncomfortable. Taga placed her mask back on unhurried.

"Greetings Hikka, you're earlier than I expected," Taga said, dropping Hikka's family name, as was the custom for close loved ones.

Hikka hesitated for a moment. "Thank you, Taga. Greetings to you too. I have come to finish collecting the melons." That response was too formal. There was a pain in her voice, and something else—fear, maybe?

"Am I not supposed to help you take the melons back?" Taga asked, probing for what was wrong.

"No, the chieftain wants to see you." She then moved in to hug Taga deeply. "They are watching us." She whispered.

Taga looked over Hikka's shoulder. She saw two figures in the distance, moving towards them. Even from this distance, she could see the gaffi sticks strapped to their sides. They were warriors, and they were watching this conversation with scavenged binoculars.

Taga held Hikka more tightly. "What do they think I did?" She asked, afraid—her words barely above a whisper.

"I'm not sure," she responded. "They would not tell me, but it has something to do with the outsider."