Blood on the Sand PT.2

Gillem threw his duster over one of the chairs in the boys living quarters of his home, then sat on the couch. A lot of travel, a lot of heat in one day. He was beat. Thankfully the domed home was partially underground keeping the place cool. Moisture farmers it looked like.

Dash had already ventured off into the dwelling somewhere, Gillem assumed to probably check in on something. Then he came back.

“Here you go, Mr.Gillem, sir. My father smoked this tabac as long as I can remember. Said they were his favorite.”

Gillem looked at the pack and gently took it from him, then smelt the rolled papers. Earthy, sweet, and very appealing on the nose. Everything his daily wasn’t. He pulled one of the cigarettes out and popped it in his lips, lighting the end with his mechanical thumb and took a deep inhale. Slow, enough to fill the lungs and ease the tension. His eyebrows raised as he slowly took it out of his mouth and exhaled.

“...Damn. That's some really good tabac kid. Your old man had great taste, that's for sure. And please, just Gillem is fine.”

Oh yeah. He definitely was switching brands after this. He noticed the kid was quiet while he sat across from him in a makeshift chair, fiddling with his fingers as the soft distant hum of the farming equipment vibrated the air.

Gillem leaned forward and spoke softly.

“We’re gonna get your mom. I promise, kid.”

Rule Zero, broken.

Dash gave him a silent nod and leaned back in the chair.

“I hope so.”

Gillem looked at him then reached into a small holster in his belt pulling out a deck of Sabacc cards and started shuffling the deck.

“Ever played Sabacc?”

The kid watched as he fluidly and effortlessly shifted the cards and shuffled them like an expert dealer. Then slowly shook his head.

“No, I can’t say I have. But my pa played a lot. I would watch, but I think I know the gist of it”

Gillem paused after he mentioned his pa again. Then slowly started to deal the cards out.

“Your pa, he sounds like he lived a full and happy life. Did he like moisture farming?”

Dash picked up his cards looking them over.

“He had his good days and his bad days here. Sometimes we would have poachers and he would take care of them with his rifle.”

Gillem looked over his cards and placed some chips in the center.

“He use his rifle a lot?”

Dash looked at the chips and back at his cards.

“No. Only when he needed to defend us. It was big and it was loud. Most of the time he would just scare off the poachers.”

Gillem looked at him.

“Didn’t like killing, did he?”

He paused as he Dash placed a few chips into the pot.

“It ain’t easy. Taking a life. Especially when they’re just trying to get by.”

His voice was quiet, the faint ticking of the moisture machines clicked in a rhythmic tandem that could easily be followed almost like a song. The sounds of Bantha outside could also be heard. Their groans echoing over the yard. Dash looked over his cards.

“Wanna call, kid?”

Dash smirked almost mischievously, before laying down his hand. Gillem let out a small chuckle.

“Woah! Ya got me!”

He placed his hand down, the kid had beat him by a mile. Such was the way he shuffled the deck. He wasn’t giving the kid a win, he was giving him a memory of success and accomplishment. His first ever hand at this game was a winning house.

The kid pulled the chips over to him with a satisfied scrape over the table.

“Nuh uh.”

Gillem placed his hand over the chips.

“Not yet. We still have another round. If I win we get a third. Winner of two gets the pot.”

Dash looked at him with a determined eye.

“You’re on.”

The two of them played cards for a bit to pass the time and to help Dash forget his troubles, just for a moment. Let the kid be a kid and just enjoy an instant. That's what he figured he’d do. Whether who won or lost didn’t matter to Gillem, but it was everything to Dash. The scent of the tabac circulated the room and finally night had fallen. Dash had fallen asleep on the couch covered up with a blanket and Gillem's coat.

Gillem stood outside. Quiet, cold and windy. The dust stirred with a bite and he watched the Bantha bed down. The wind was whistling hard. His cue to head inside before the sandstorm hit.

The house was designed to take the winds and the beating sands. He didn’t worry about the home. Instead he wandered the inside. Checking rooms and pictures. Getting a sense of how the connection was with this small family. Sure enough the connection was deep. Loving family, hard working, good sense of teamwork between them all. The Eckon family were just your average getting by family.

Gillem sat in the chair, leaned back and hat over his eyes as he fell into a light slumber. His first real sleep from all of the traveling, only taken once he knew everything was quiet.

He was startled awake the next morning from Dash yelling outside. Rushing out he had drawn his pistol ready for any action, the bright hot sun setting in his eyes almost blinding him. He squinted hard as his blurred vision slowly came to.

The Bantha had escaped their corral from the storm and were now all over the property. Gillem let out a sigh of relief and slowly holstered his revolver. The familiar sound of metal grinding on leather was like a familiar song to his ears.

“Damn it kid! What a hell of an alarm!”

He walked over as Dash struggled to pull the Bantha by the reins as if trying to drag it back to the corral. Gillem stepped over and took the reins and spoke firmly.

“Come on.”

A quick tug and a sharp clicking of his tongue got the Bantha moving. He had just woken up and already it was going to be a long day. Last night he counted six of these. Only one was retrieved at the moment.

Dash followed him, watching as he directed the Bantha almost expertly back to the corral. Watching almost in amazement.

“Wow! Even pa had trouble with’em. What's your secret?”

Gillem looked at him as he removed the bridles from their horns.

“You can’t be frustrated.”

He unhooked the reins from their neck and shoulders.

“And ya gotta be firm with them.”

He looked out in the distance to another Bantha and handed the bridle and reins to Dash.

“Here, give it a try. Approach with confidence but not quickly. Be firm and direct.”

He watched as the boy struggled a few times, but he did not interrupt. Not only was the boy asserting himself, but he was building a bond over the animal. Interrupting would throw it off and cause more chaos. It took him a few tries, but Dash seemed to get the hang of it.

After hours of bringing Bantha back to the corral everything seemed to finally settle. Dash spoke to him as Gillem leaned on the fencing.

“When are we going to get her? My mom.”

Gillem looked at him.

“We aren’t going anywhere. They will come to us tomorrow. I’ll see if I can barter her back.”

Dash’s facial expression changed to frustration.

“Barter?! She’s not a slave! And they killed my pa Gillem! You’re just gonna let them live? You said you would help!”

Gillem looked down at him.

“You’ve seen enough blood spilt, Dash. I’m gonna get your mom back, then you two will be leaving this place.”

Dash kicked sand at him and grunted.

“That’s not what we agreed on! You said you would kill them!”

Gillem did not flinch when the sand was flung at his boots, he kept leaning on the fence, unphased.

“I did not.”

He spoke quietly, almost in a more serious tone.

“I said I would get your mother back. And I suggested the two of you left. Tuskan raiders, son. There are always more of them. Killing one would start a turf war on your property, then you your cattle and your mother will be dead.”

His eyes reflected a grim look as he knelt in front of him.

“Is that what you want? Is a little vengeance really worth losing everything? Including the person you are trying to save? These actions have consequences. I only shoot in defence.”

Dash stayed quiet, chewing on his words, holding back his frustrated tears, then finally spoke quietly.

“...no…that's not what I want. But I refuse to compromise!”

Gillem stood back up.

“Son, this galaxy is full of definites or compromises. Unfortunately for moisture farmers, its always a compromise.”

He was blunt with the poor kid. To him there was just no other way to explain it.

Dash glared at him.

“My father would never compromise for our safety!”

Dash’s voice echoed over the wind. The child was hurting, and he wanted his mothers kidnappers to hurt back. Gillem didn’t blame him. But it was not what he signed up for. Killing always brought something worse back. It just was not him, not anymore.

“Is that why you sold that star? Because you sold yourself out of being a rescuer? You became a coward didn’t you?!”

Gillem’s eyes shot towards the kid and he walked towards him. Dash stood firm against him. He unholstered his iron and opened the cylinder, dropping the .48 caliber shells to the sand then holstered it.

He looked Dash square in the eyes.

“Draw, kid.”

Dash’s eyes widened and his stance froze.

“W…what?!”

Gillem moved his poncho aside and grabbed his second revolver, emptying the cylinder then tossed it into the sand in front of Dash.

“Pick it up. And draw.”

Dash picked up the heavy iron and placed it in his waist band. He set up a stance facing Gillem, hands to his side.

Gillem’s eye stayed on him as the wind whistled around them. Hand relaxed over his side. Dash stood rigid, nervous.

The kid’s brow began to sweat.

Then……

Dash reached for the iron only to see Gillem already had his trained on him. Dash’s breath faltered as he looked down the barrel, the iron just resting in his hand.

“Dead... Just like that.”

Gillem spoke quietly as he holstered his revolver and gently took his other one back.

“It ain’t like the stories kid. There's no heroics, there's no triumphant stand. There’s only the moment. The instance and the hesitation. All of it over in the blink of an eye and al you’re met with is silence and your thoughts.”

He gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It ain’t worth it son.”

Dash’s head fell to look at the sand as he grew silent.

“I will get your mom back. I already promised that. But unless I am forced to, I won't kill.”

He then guided Dash back into the homestead. The day passing by uneventfully and night fell. Gillem had fallen asleep again on the couch. Deep slumber had taken him, but something in his head told him to wake up.

He shot awake. The dawn sun had not even crested yet and the sky was still a dark blue, a chill hung in the air. Dash was not in his usual spot. Gillem quickly checked the other bedrooms. Empty.

“Damn it kid.”

He spoke to himself as he walked back to his coat and guns. One revolver missing and thirty .48 caliber shells missing.

“No, no no.”

Gillem spoke to himself as he quickly gathered his stuff and headed outside. Dash was nowhere to be seen and one Bantha was missing.

“Feth!”

Gillem yelled to himself as he headed back inside. He quickly checked the house for some supplies. He knew the boy definitely did not pack enough, stuffing canned rations in his bag he stopped as his eyes fell to Dash’s father’s rifle.

A heavy caliber blaster rifle. Break action, capable of firing a heavy concentrated blast at long ranges, but it burnt up whole plasma coils. The things used to keep regular blaster rifles going almost endlessly.

“Damn, he wasn’t kidding.”

He picked it up, the weight was hefty, but the rifle could be compacted to a shorter barrel for travel. He folded the extended barrel down and holstered it in his coat along with the few plasma cells he could find. His cybernetic eye highlighted his footprints as he looked towards the expanse of the desert.

He threw his pack into the side compartment of the speeder bike and revved up its turbines, spitting sand behind him as he quickly boosted after the trail.