Biggs and Tank seemed to be starting to resent me after I beat them yet again in what had become our traditional swoop race through Beggar’s Canyon.
There was nothing I could do about it.
Biggs could almost keep up with me, pushing hard enough to make it a real competition whenever I raced seriously instead of intentionally throwing every fifth race.
Tank, meanwhile, remained a reliable third place.
To make matters worse, both of them had somehow lost our last deliberately easy race to Fixer, who had unexpectedly stolen the victory right out from under them.
All I could do was shrug.
After nearly three years of friendship, the loyalty of my little support group was extremely strong.
“You almost had me,” I tried to reassure the gloomy boys as we sped back toward the starting point.
“You just need to be more careful on the turns.
Give it a couple of years and you’ll both make great pilots.” Our group usually hung around the relatively safe region known as Beggar’s Canyon.
Sometimes the three of us explored new locations, but when we did, the rest of the gang stayed behind in the sheltered cave near the canyon entrance, protected from wind, sun, and sand while they waited for us.
Luke Skywalker’s thirteenth birthday had recently passed, and Jabba’s annual Boonta Eve replacement event, the Brutal Races, would soon be held.
This year’s race was a special anniversary event, promising an especially large prize for the winner.
Because of that, I preferred to spend as much time as possible training.
“Come by W.
Wald’s place this weekend,” I suggested to my fellow troublemakers.
“We’re doing the first test run of the podracer.” My biological father’s old friend had settled down considerably after I bought the swoop from him.
He treated me wonderfully and had happily agreed to mentor me in racing.
The podracer itself was practically being built from scratch.
We had abandoned the idea of combining a Breeze-G swoop with the remains of Anakin’s old podracer.
What had worked for W.
Wald simply wasn’t suitable for me.
That left about a month and a half to conduct trial runs and learn to feel the podracer as an extension of myself.
Maybe I could even learn to infuse it with the Force.
“Won’t Fixer complain that you didn’t invite him?” Janek asked, referring to our resident mechanic, Laze Loneozner.
“Fixer spends more time there than I do,” I replied truthfully.
Loneozner was obsessed with tinkering with machinery, and he and W.
Wald had become fast friends.
“There’s no way Laze is missing this.
He thinks he built half the podracer himself.” Tank and Biggs exchanged a look, but I had already increased speed, aiming to reach the cave first.
Fixer was once again adjusting something on his swoop.
The Starkillers were openly doing nothing.
Camie and Windy were the first to run out and greet us.
“You beat them again?” Camie asked as she immediately wrapped me in a hug the moment I jumped off my swoop.
“I need more experienced opponents,” I admitted with a wink.
“Just don’t tell those two.” Darklighter and Sunber, who were already arguing about some trivial matter, had clearly recovered from the loss.
At this point everyone present had accepted that Luke Lars was the undisputed king of swoop racing among them.
There was a reason he planned to compete in the Brutal Races.
Having once again secured second place ahead of Tank, Biggs immediately began bragging about it.
Normal teenage behavior.
Despite Luke’s body beginning to experience the joys of puberty, I could still feel the final months of my second childhood slipping away.
The Force whispered that events were coming from which there would be no return.
“HUGE SANDSTORM!” Fixer suddenly burst from the cave, shouting at the top of his lungs.
He had been sitting beside the local equivalent of a radio, an expensive and unreliable piece of equipment.
“Storm front’s coming from the north!
Time to get moving unless you want to be buried out here!” Sandstorms were a perfectly normal occurrence on Tatooine.
That didn’t make them any less horrible.
They were one of the reasons every moisture farm dug itself deep into the ground, while even city homes used sealed windows.
And now one of those monstrous storms was heading directly toward us.
“Get on your swoops and go home,” I said quickly.
Nobody needed encouragement.
Loneozner and the Starkillers were already rolling their swoops out of the cave.
Windy climbed onto Deakon’s passenger seat.
I waved to Camie, whose own swoop had been under repair for the past week, leaving me responsible for giving her rides.
“Hop on.
We can still make it to your place.” The girl nodded and darted back into the temporary shelter to retrieve some belongings while the others rode around the bend and out of sight.
We would split up almost immediately after leaving the canyon.
Waiting for one another when every minute mattered would have been pointless.
“Take care of yourselves,” I called to the gang.
“Don’t wait for us.
We’ll make it.” Biggs only needed to reach Anchorhead.
The Starkillers had a much longer journey ahead, so they left first without wasting time on farewells.
Perfectly sensible Tatooine behavior, refined by generations who knew exactly how dangerous hesitation could be.
Tank gave a short nod and followed.
Technically his route was the shortest, but unlike the rest of us, Sunber would be flying directly toward the storm.
Fixer stuffed his tools into the enormous storage crate attached to his swoop and sped off for home just as Camie finally emerged from the shelter with a bag slung over her shoulder.
She quickly climbed behind me, wrapped her arms around my waist, and pressed herself tightly against my back.
Had I mentioned Luke’s hormones were working perfectly?
“Move it, Biggs,” I called to my friend, who was still waiting for us.
He nodded awkwardly and accelerated onto the road.
I followed immediately, leaving our cozy refuge behind.
It was useless against a sandstorm anyway.
Darklighter quickly pulled ahead before turning toward the city.
Our route led elsewhere.
The fastest way to reach the Marstrap farm was through the canyon shortcut.
“So now it’s just the two of us,” Camie shouted once Biggs disappeared from view and the wind still allowed us to hear each other.
“Hold on tight!” I yelled back.
Judging by the way she immediately squeezed harder, she took the advice seriously.
Hopefully she wouldn’t accidentally strangle me with those pure, noble, eternal feelings while we were riding.
Using the Force, I secured both of us with a safety harness I had built myself.
Swoops weren’t designed with such things.
The general assumption seemed to be that incompetent drivers deserved whatever happened to them.
Then I opened the throttle fully.
The engine roared.
I shot forward at maximum speed, racing through the canyon I knew practically stone by stone.
The problems began shortly after we emerged.
Reacting to a sudden warning from the Force, I slammed the brakes at the last second, allowing an unexpected blaster bolt to streak past harmlessly.
Accelerating again and extending my senses through the Force, I quickly realized what was happening.
Tusken Raiders.
The Sand People were hunting.
A classic Tusken tactic.
They were driving us toward a kill zone, and the narrow pass waiting ahead was almost certainly blocked.
“Bastards,” I growled.
“Where did you come from, and why now?” Dodging another shot, I made my decision instantly.
Pulling hard left, I abandoned the road entirely.
Camie, smart girl that she was, had already drawn my blaster pistol.
She fired several shots over my shoulder.
They weren’t aimed particularly well, more in the general direction of the enemy than at actual targets, but it was enough to disrupt them.
A Tusken riding some local beast charged from the left.
I had never bothered learning much of Tatooine’s wildlife beyond banthas.
During Academy classes on Tatooine fauna, I had openly ignored the subject.
The decision came instantly.
The knife strapped to my left boot rose into the air and shot toward the desert warrior.
The blade punched through his throat just beneath the mask.
The unfortunate desert pirate let out a choking gasp, clawed at his neck, and tumbled into the sand, where he was immediately trampled by his panicked mount.
Served him right.
The pursuit remained behind us and gradually fell farther back, but they prevented us from returning to our proper route, forcing us farther south.
The sandstorm was now visible on the horizon.
We had already passed the Marstrap farm, which was being swallowed by the advancing wall of sand, and there was no longer any chance of reaching the Lars homestead before the storm arrived.
Only after finally shaking our pursuers did we realize just how far off course we had been driven.