Episode X Dark Hunter

The Labor of Life

Night fell on Geonosis–a black, yet dimly jaundice night common to most ringed planets. Its rings glowed unnaturally at the horizons where the shadow of the planet did not hide their pale light. They looked like sharp spears that extended a quarter of the way into the night sky on each side; the rest of the continuous rings were as black as the stygian emptiness of space, the stars muted by the ring's light.

Only six of the fifteen moons could be seen in their various phases, adding less light than would be expected, as if the void of space actively drained their strength. The ethereal light cast shifting and coalescing shadows over the dingy landscape. These shadow apparitions from boulders and promontories glanced from behind each spire. Even the wind appeared to be affected by them as it remained still and silent, not wanting to draw the attention of any of these undead shadow spirits.

The wind being unnerved; it is a fanciful thought. Perhaps, it is not too different from our own trepidation in the twilight. If only our souls were free of that malady.

Somewhere in the night's shadow, Videsse's hut rested about a kilometer to the east with her barren quinto grain field on its far side. Beyond that, the giant mammoth ridge of the valley rose, black and ominous, as if it was a swell threatening to cover the invisible residence under a deluge of stone and dust. Behind us, the opposite cliff face on the west of the plain stood. So let us turn to face it. Its rugged rock face towered twenty meters above, where its distant edge disappeared against the night sky, only the stars and the rings, beforehand mentioned, showing where the cliff ended and the universe began.

Beneath the cliff, settled in the flat earth at the bottom, two small mounds laid. They were just longer than a human body. And so it should be, for they were graves. Barely visible in the night, their dark forms, and darker shadows rested as if two individuals were simply lying down to rest under the stars. A thin pole could barely be seen rising from each mound's head a little over a meter, and atop each rested a helmet. If there was more light, it would be evident that on the left, the helmet was a vivid red with two large eye screens, a horizontal air filter over the mouth, and a small antenna rising from the occipital shield. It was Terrah Otlell's helmet, the one she wore when Videsse had accidentally met her six years ago. The other grave, it will be no surprise, was Boba Fett's, and his green Mandalorian helmet rested on top of his grave marker, tilted down slightly as if it was contemplating.

It is not an uncommon occurrence to visit the dead, nor is it uncommon to feel as if the dead are still with us, somewhere just outside of our perception, listening and watching. That feeling, however, is easily overcome by our higher mental faculties and dismissed with any real thought as a romantic trick of our emotions. Still, it must have been the dim light of the moons and rings, for it looked like the inhabitants of these graves were simply lying under a thick bed cover. Of course, that is just fanciful thinking as I have alluded to. Everyone knows, corpses are nothing more than base elements tending toward decay. But did you see, or was it just a trick of the light? Could I convince you that the mounds shifted, just slightly, just enough to imagine that the sleepers had taken a breath? 

 The thought is horrid, although strangely alluring. Let us sit and watch attentively, for the more closely we watch the more the shadows will play tricks on our eyes, and the better we can be deceived to believe. The mounds were not smooth but covered with small rocks that fit together in a patchwork-like pattern. Dust and sand had settled in the gaps between the rocks that Videsse had so tenderly placed when she had buried the deceased. The dust was thin and could be stirred like a sheet, and if you would just glance at the shadow on the far edge of Boba's bed carefully, could it be that it looked like fingers, maybe a hand. Is it moving? No. Perhaps, it was just an eskrat, a progeny of one that had stowed away on the bounty hunter's ship and survived on quinto grain. Videsse's quinto grain was the only thing they could survive off of on this planet. And yet, it would be easy to imagine that it was a hand and that it did move, just a hint, and that Boba was a moment away from uncovering the sheet of his grave to rise again and stand in the strength of the man he was intended to be, maybe even shining forth as the sun to brighten this eerie night.

Again, it is a fantasy--one brought on by the hint of the real rising sun behind us, for time had gotten away from us and the sky had begun to brighten with a rosy-fingered dawn at our backs and the dull rings stretched further overhead. Let us shift our gaze now to Terrah's grave. It could be observed that the shadows were getting sharper and more defined. The illusion that these graves were moving can be seen to be an obvious absurdity. And yet, even with our most acute faculties, it can not be denied that an umbrage seemed to rise from Terrah's grave.

This was no trick of the night sky nor a superstitious anxiety producing our own hallucinations. Slowly, a shadow stretched from the grave, head first, then the dark shoulders and arms rose, as it passed from her grave over the ground behind and then up the cliff face wall. The shadow limped and stumbled as it grew in size--a feminine form with shoulder-length hair. Could this be the specter of Terrah, dark and dire?

The sound of footsteps behind us laid the question to rest. Videsse was approaching from the east, limping slightly on her right leg, an injury she compensated for with an augmentation to her armor when she wore it. The red sun glowed behind her, and her stretching shadow went before. She took a sip from the bottle of Cheedoan whiskey she held in her left hand and wiped her mouth after. She walked up and stood silent over the two graves, rubbing her free fingers together and biting her lip. She was quiet for a while and appeared as if trying to think of something to say until finally she shook her head and whispered to herself, "Whatever." It had been four months since her mother had died. Since the day she buried her, she came every morning to the graves. Every morning the whiskey came with her as well. She poured an ounce onto Boba's grave.

Videsse turned to face the sunrise and sat down between the graves, stretching her feet out in front of her and taking a few more sips of the whiskey. "You know," she said out loud. She wanted to say something again but held her peace. The graves laid silent and motionless, holding their peace as well, perhaps, waiting for Videsse to finish what she was going to say. After twenty more minutes of sitting without a sound and imbibing the amber liquor, she lifted herself up and finished the last of the whiskey in one large gulp that expanded her cheeks. Some of the liquor escaped her lips, and she wiped it with her forearm. Finally, she said, "Maybe, I'll see you tomorrow." She limped back to the hut, staggering a little more than when she came. The labor of the quinto field waited for her; the labor of life did not.