Episode X Dark Hunter

The Quinto Grain

It took her longer to return as she slowly made her way back to the hut where her black ship, the Vigilance, slept nearby. Her other ships, the Millennial Falcon and Slave-1, were housed in a cave she called the Eyrie about five kilometers away. She dropped the whiskey bottle at the doorway instead of entering and slinked like a wraith toward the quinto field. PZ-85 emerged from the darkness of the hut, his image showing like a man walking out of his tomb. He had heard the bottle drop at the front door and came to see Videsse.

The droid had watched the change in her these last four months, and though only a protocol droid, he recognized that he also was losing something. He was losing a little more of Videsse every day.

"Mistress Dess?" He refered to her formally as mistress.  It was the normal address before the death of her mother.   Still he used her nickname, Dess, and to use that name only those who loved her had done was becoming awkward. Soon, he knew he would refer to her as Mistress Videsse, and then by her last name, and ultimately, he may not address to her at all. 

These feelings of a droid are foreign to men, even to me as the narrator. So I will confess my inability to describe what was occurring in the circuitry of a manufactured product; I am unsure of what a sentient programmer might have included in his operating system that could make him capable of sorrow. Why would a programmer do such a thing is beyond me, if in fact he or she did. His slower walk, his lowered head, and his careful speech; were these things a reflection of real sorrow for losing what was left of Videsse? Or did they just look that way? Are we just imagining that we see something where there is nothing, like the specters behind the rocks?

Videsse did not stop walking at PZ-85's address.

"Uh, Mistress Dess," PZ-85 said again. "If you are thinking of working the quinto field, may I suggest you wait for a w-while until you are sober?"

"Shut up, Peezee." The reply was cold and dead.

"Oh," PZ-85 muttered in a low voice. He turned to reenter the hut, but he could not help making one comment. It was just loud enough for Videsse to hear, but low enough so it sounded as if he was just talking to himself. "I j-just thought you might plow straighter rows if you waited a bit. B-But quinto harvesting is not in my programming... obviously."

Videsse did not answer. She had heard, but she did not care. There were rows to plow and she wanted to be alone presently.

The field was not much of a field at that time. The ground was now hard, Videsse having given it up its management years ago to take care of her mother.  The proper season for planting was four months ago as it was.  Fertile soil was not existent on Geonosis, so the soil had to be brought in from other systems around the galaxy. It cost a fortune to do, but Videsse had a fortune to do it with, and when Boba and Terrah were alive, it was a family occupation worth the expense. They had all managed the field together and made a very slight profit from it. Now, the soil was calloused, unyielding, and covered with the blown sand of the desert.

The hover plow slept next to one of the dozen vaporators needed to irrigate the grain. It was grimy with dust, and the wind had heaped a drift of sand on one side over the season. Videsse had not bothered to shelter it, her mother needing more care. Some things did not need to be done.

She wondered if the rust-red plow would even start after the year of being battered by the sun, wind, and sand. Did it have any life left in it? Did our heroine? The plow did have a few things left in it from the last time it was used: Boba's EE carbine rifle snuggly holstered under the console, a pair of sand goggles on the seat, and a pint canister of whiskey, Videsse's whiskey in Boba's canister. Of course, Videsse noticed the whiskey laying on the console inside the operator's cabin. It would adequately supply her with a few more hours of comfortable numbness.

"Thanks, Boba," she said as she moved her body into the operating chair and swept up the goggles. She put them on and then took the canister in her hand, the light of the late morning sun reflecting off of it onto her face. She could hear her mother tell her she did not need it, but she brushed off the thought.

Videsse took a sip, a conservative sip for her this morning. Since her mother's death, she found the bottle more frequently, more comfortably, and more deeply.  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to almost imagine that Boba and her mother were back at the hut and that she was secretly enjoying some of Boba's liquor like she used to do when working the field. She pretended to believe that he would kill her if he knew and Terrah would be so disappointed when she found out. But they never did find out, at least Videsse did not think they ever did.  

Videsse opened her eyes and threw the canister back onto the console. She took a deep and slow breath.

"Here goes nothing," she said to herself and leaned over to hit the ignition switch. The engine coughed and died. She hit the ignition again. It repeated its epileptic fit and died. Videsse shook her head but tried once more. The engine lurched and whined as if it wanted to live but did not know how. Videsse then stomped on the floor with her good leg, while she held her finger on the ignition. The hover plow coughed again and then started to vibrate rhythmically. It was a slow rhythm at first, but it sped up into a nice purr while Videsse held the ignition switch in place. After two minutes of allowing the engine to catch its stride, Videsse released the ignition and let it idle for another few minutes.

"Sounds like the condenser line. Looks like you need a bit of work." While it idled, Videsse leaned back and took a few more sips from the canister. "Don't we both."