For such a desolate, backwater world, it has a great deal of importance

[Lilla Syrin]

Lilla reached the top of the dunes and began the hike down to the salt flats. She was accustomed to land that constantly shifted under her feet. It was easy to move forward even while the very ground she walked on fought her progress.

Lilla didn't particularly like the sand, either, but accepted it. It was all she knew.

She didn't find the planet beautiful but had only seen the vivid greens of forests, the deep blues of lakes and seas and the kaleidoscope of a cities neon colours in holobooks.

Here, everything blended into everything else, mesa, cliff, hill, road. There was no vegetation to refresh the eye, no sudden explosions of flowers to startle you into a fresh appreciation of living.

Of late, Lilla had taken to travelling outside of Mos Espa itself at dawn and dusk. It was not that she had suddenly grown weary of the space-port. In truth she had never loved it, but rather had tolerated it. And despite the very nature of the settlement giving an opportunity to put the planet firmly behind her, she was in no hurry to leave.

She had no reason – at least not consciously. She never contemplated leaving and if anyone mentioned it, she would politely say she would consider it, but once the conversation changed topic, the subject did not trouble her psyche again.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

Lila climbed a cliff overlooking the homestead of the family that once owned her. Not that she was born into a life of slavery. Or rather, she had no recollection of it. One day she was on Tatooine and found by the Jawas – and the next she was a slave.

She harboured the family no ill-feeling. They bought her in good faith and on this planet, slavery was acceptable and commonplace. And they were never cruel to her or over-worked her. They just expected a day’s work in return for food and lodgings – and that’s what Lilla gave.

Until one day she left. Was there remorse? Perhaps. But whatever they paid for her, she’d repaid manifold – outliving the typical slave by a factor of three. So she’d in truth saved them credits. And for moisture farmers, money was a scarce commodity.

But perhaps a little guilt is what brought her back to this location so often…

 

[Lilla Syrin]

She knew the routine of the farmer, who would wait for first light to check the vaporators. His young son at his side, he would head out to check the perimeter, and to gather the mushrooms that clung to the moisture that beaded on their exteriors. There was little fresh food on Tatooine, and these mushrooms were highly prized – and rather tasty too.

Lilla lay flat, far enough away that even the sharpest eyes couldn't pick her out, but close enough that she had a sense of their demeanour. And she knew something was wrong.

She scanned the horizon. As her eyes trailed over the expanse of sand and salt flats she realised something was missing.

The vaporators.

She moved position a few times and saw only clots of sand and a set of snaking bantha tracks. The Tusken Raiders travelled in single file to confuse their pursuers.

The missing devices were what gave them water, enough to run the farm and enough to sell to keep on going. The loss would be a huge blow.

And she replayed the conversation she was sure was happening right now. One she’d heard before. The son would want to get them back – knowing how important they were. His father would forbid it, the risk to life would not be worthwhile.

And the son would challenge that they couldn’t survive without them.

The argument would endure and then reach an inevitable conclusion. They were farmers not warriors and would have to rebuild their stock of machinery over time. Besides, they would reason, they've probably already broken them down and sold the parts for scrap to the Jawas.

It meant years of hardship, but it was the only logical course of action, even if it essentially meant buying back their own vaporators from the Jawas.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

Lilla didn’t need to hear the voices. Somehow, as well as understanding the farmer’s courage and resourcefulness, she sensed desperation and fear. She didn’t know how she knew – and she certainly had no idea that she was rare in being able to do so – but she knew.

Finally, the famer put his arm around his son’s shoulders and they walked off back toward the homestead.

Lilla owed them nothing. But her brain said she had to do something about the situation. The Tusken Raiders couldn't have gone far. She had a day to act.

She would retrieve the vaporators herself.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

Sand People were not easy to track. They moved in single file and used switchbacks, false turns, and seeming dead-ends to confuse any trackers. Even though she knew their tricks, Lilla still had trouble following the trail. She kept losing it and having to double back.

Lilla came to a canyon that was scored with a series of twisting dry riverbeds. While her eyes searched the ground for every sign of disturbed pebble or partially obliterated bantha hoof-print, part of her mind drifted to the past. To the good times she’d spent at the homestead.

She could see the moons rising. She knew she was close, but now it would be too dark to track. Lilla stopped and looked up in frustration at the first star overhead. It was then that she heard it…a soft sound, a high sound…children calling.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

She dropped to her knees and took shelter behind a rock. She could hear the children of the Sand People, called Uli-ah, running, sticks in their hands. They pretended the sticks were gaderffi, the poles the Tuskens used as weapons. One end a deadly spike dipped in venom, the other a spiked club. With guttural cries, the children used the rock she crouched behind as target practice. She could feel the shudder of the blows through the solid rock. She understood why the Sand People were such fierce fighters. They trained, from the time they could walk, how to kill.

Lilla followed the Uli-ah at a distance and, after scrambling over a dune, she saw the camp. The urtya tents, made of animal skins and sticks, formed a circle. Off to one side, banthas were tethered to poles fashioned of scrap metal.

The Raiders were noted for their skills as sentries. They knew when someone was approaching their camp. No one knew whether it was their sense of smell, or their sight, or an ability to divine changes in the air currents, or some extrasensory ability. But Lilla was trained by the governess to walk the world lightly, to move through air and on ground without leaving a trace. Tonight, Lilla was just another shadow in the dusk.

The smells and sounds of the preparation of the evening meal came to her. Good. They would be distracted. The Sand People weren't sociable, even amongst themselves. Each family retreated to their own tent. There they ate their meal and then retired.

She knew as much as most about the Sand People. The men fought. The women kept the camp. They did not invite each other into family tents. Their need for concealment was close to a mania. If skin were exposed on a Tusken Raider, he would be banished or killed. So, at this time they wouldn't be wandering. Families would be secluded.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

Lilla moved from shelter to shelter, treading lightly. If the vaporators were still intact, she hoped he would be lucky and they would be out in the open and unguarded.

But she was not lucky.

And then she spied a sentry in front of one of the tents.

She pressed herself against the skin of the tent and ran her small blade along it. She sliced through the back and crawled through.

Spoils from raids littered the tent, bundles of cloth, metal, a droid half-dismantled for parts. The vaporators were stacked in the middle of the tent. Lilla thanked the stars. They hadn't been dismantled.

She didn't want to fight a battle. She wanted only to get the vaporators out of here. But she needed a bantha to carry them. The thing about banthas she knew all too well, was that you couldn't count on them to keep their mouths shut.

She knew she'd have to take a chance. A very big one.

Yet she had no fear. None. It was not due to overconfidence or an underestimation of the task. It was because she simply believed she would succeed. She was well trained and she had a plan. That’s all there as to it.

The banthas were tethered twenty metres away. Slipping through the shadows, she approached them. She watched them for a moment before picking out out a bantha and put a hand on its flank. She felt it shudder, then relax. She dipped into her pocket for the lichen she had picked on the way and fed the beast.

Then she led it back, closer to the tent. She should be able to load all the vaporators on one beast. Banthas were chosen to carry heavy burdens for a reason.

Boldness. That's what the plan called for.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

Moving swiftly, Lilla transported the vaporators, four at a time, into the satchels that were slung over the bantha's back. He did not make a sound. The bantha stayed quiet ass he fed him more bits of lichen from her pocket.

She was almost done when she sensed something. It was nothing she heard, smelled, touched or saw. But the sensation was overwhelming.

Behind her the gaderffi moved, the spiked club end headed for her skull. Lilla leaped to one side and the Tusken Raider let out a howl of fury and challenge.

The cry was picked up by others.

The men ran out of their tents. Lilla spun in a slow circle. They raised their gaderffi above their heads, crying the terrible howl that could freeze the blood in anyone unlucky enough to be within its hearing.

She could read their confidence in their identical stances. They didn't need to hurry. It was one lone figure against many. They had her, a mere girl in their eyes. They would enjoy this.

Then with astonishing speed, they came at her. The gaffi sticks whirled. Her training kicked in and she jumped and twisted to evade them, her blade in her hand but ineffective against their weapons.. She flipped, her boots connecting with a Raider, who went over with a strangled cry of rage. As he went down, Lilla grabbed his gaffi stick.

She was clearly more than they had bargained for, but they weren't daunted. She could sense their bloodlust. She was only enraging them.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

Lilla’s fighting style was essentially about evasion and disguise. Actual combat meant she’d already lost any initiative she’d enjoyed. Her most successful encounters were based on her ability to deflect attacks and surprise her opponent.

Time slowed down.

She considered their faces, obscured by their intentionally terrifying headgear. Round dark holes for eyes, mouths composed of metal shards around a gaping gash. Not a speck of skin or flesh to be seen. That would soften them too much, make them look like living beings, connect them, somehow, to the life-forms around them. They wanted to be distinct. They wanted to look like walking death.

The Sand People made nothing and gave back nothing. They merely preyed on the weak. The moisture farmers, who worked back-breaking days, were attacked on raids that often resulted in death and complete destruction.

Her stillness clearly intrigued them.

Maybe they were beginning to be wary of her, wondering what her true capabilities were. What they would not understand or even guess at, was her underlying belief that she would not take a life if there was an alternative.

But what alternative?

What had the governess taught? If you know your their weakness, you can defeat your enemy. Expose them for what they are.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

Was it a flash of inspiration or a well-considered plan? Either way, the idea forced its way into her consciousness and she acted.

She ran and leaped high – over the tents. As she flew above them, she slashed down with the borrowed weapon, one, two, three times, then landed and leaped again. The tents collapsed in a gust and a clatter of sticks.

Women and children blinked. Some of the women weren't wearing their face masks or their gloves. They shrieked and clawed at the sand, trying to bury themselves. Some threw blankets over their children. They moaned and howled with the shame of their unmasking.

Lilla landed and took advantage of the stunned reaction of the men. Using the gaderffi stick she'd taken, she charged forward, slashing at utility belts and face masks. In her hands, the stick became as elegantly precise as a medical-droid's scalpel. Sandshrouds peeled back, skulls were exposed, fingers and limbs too.

They couldn't fight now. Their centuries of rules and rituals defeated their need to strike. Exposure meant death. The men ran to their tents to protect their women, to find cover.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

Liila leaped onto the bantha and urged it into a gallop, the cries of the exposed echoing in her ears.

She brought the farmer and his family the vaporators that night.

She didn’t knock at the door. They’d find their lost equipment soon enough when they rose the following morning.

Lilla trudged away. The sand sucked at her boots. She felt the wind pick up in the sudden way she'd become accustomed to.

Sand pelted her cheeks. This was her life now. To protect a family who didn't know her, might never know her. To have no one by her side. A life linked to no one.

To get up every day, to stand, to watch, to live, when so many had died.

To be the beginning of something bigger than she could ever be. It took all of her faith, but she believed, and with belief came hope.

Acutely aware that hope was a double-sided credit with fear on the opposing face, Lilla pushed these thoughts out of her mind. She would simply ‘do’ and see where it took her in particular – and Mos Espa in general.