“Rule Two-Thirty-Four!” Dav blurted out.

Part Three

“What?” Hublin barked.

“Rule Two-Thirty-Four,” Dav said. “Sir, with all due respect, rule 234 of the Rules of Engagement say we can’t target civilians, not even to make a point or example to the rebels. We can’t do this, Sir! It’s wrong!”

Jada looked at the trigger that she’d have to pull in the next sixty seconds in order to drop the bomb on her target.

“Cadet, you are not here to make decisions! That’s the job of your officers! Your job is to do whatever we tell you, is that clear?”

“Sir, I recall in the manual that if an officer is in violation of the Rules of Engagement, the enlisted man is within rights to question the order…”

“Question all you want, Eccles. But do it in your head and not over the comlink, or I’ll blast you out’ve the skies myself just like we had to do to your flightmate, Gaab!”

Dav turned to Jada. “Don’t do it,” he said. “I’m your flight senior-I’ll take the blame. Something’s not right here, Jada. Someone’s made a mistake. Don’t be part of it.”

“It’s a farm,” she said quietly.

Something chattered in her head. It was Rex from Norrin and Bondo’s bomber.

“Jada?” Norrin said, “Jada, this is Norrin. I’m on the secure channel. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Jada, Rex just showed me something he found while poking around the info networks. You should see this.”

“Now, Norrin?” said Dav, “Really?”

Alarms sounded in everyone’s ships, a sound they knew and had come to dread in the sims, because it usually meant someone’s ‘death’ was immanent:

Missile Lock.

A missile had been locked on to one of the fighters, and had been launched.

“Blast,” said Hublin, “I’ve got to take care of this. Black Three and Sub-Leader, stay with the bombers. Black Three and Four, stay on target and drop your payloads, or I’ll shoot you myself! Black Leader out.”

Hublin’s interceptor veered off, firing countermeasures in bright red fountains of heated smoke and charged ion particles in an effort to throw off the guidance systems of the incoming missiles. In seconds, they all saw the flaming contrails of outdated weaponry streak by them. Not a single hit landed, and Hublin’s ship flew off behind a ridge of mountains to find their launch pad source.

“Jada,” Norrin said, “Remember that argument we had in Ozzel’s class about rule 234? You were right. You were right that we shouldn’t do that. Here, look at this!. Rex, patch it into her helmet’s HUD system!”

A grainy film began playing in a corner of Jada’s vision inside the Head’s Up Display in her flight helmet. But instead of reading about her vital signs and nearby threats, she saw a fairly clear shot of something she’d only seen in her dreams for the past few months:

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It was a daytime shot of the Sanddancer moisture farm.

The film footage was apparently shot by the helmet camera of one of the troopers.

Several white-suited troopers parked their speeder bikes outside the farm in the dim, predawn light. Even with the dim light and the grainy quality of the footage, Jada saw the emblem of the white gear-logo that she’d seen on her pursuer so long ago before she’d volunteered for duty as an Imperial Navy trooper.

“Incident report Tango-Hotel-X-Ray, One-One-Three-Eight,” she heard the slight accent over the camera’s comlink. “Responding to a…ah…a domestic disturbance out here on the outskirts of Anchorhead at the Sanddancer family moisture farm.”

The sound of blasters made the cameraman turn his head towards the small, humble house and maintenance garage set in the midst of the dune sea.

They’d moved quickly, these troopers. Her mother, father and brothers had already been hauled out of the house and made to kneel with their hands behind their heads.

Her brothers glared at the troopers with anger blazing in their eyes. Jada’s mother was crying. Her father looked brave, but resigned.

“We’ve paid up,” he said. “We’re clear with the Hutts for this month.”

“You think this is about the Hutts, old man?” said the trooper with the sergeant markings on his orange shoulder pad.

“What else could it be?” Zed said, looking defiantly at the trooper.

“You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that, kid,” said the sergeant. “Your father here should’ve taken the hint and moved on from here when we were sabotaging your farm.”

“You? One of you toph-heads knew how to use a laser cutter?”

“You’ll find out just what we’re capable of if you keep running your mouth, kid. We had to play it quiet before, but now things are different.”

“How? You guys aren’t exactly known for your subtlety”

“Zed,” Da said, “shut your mouth!”

“”You’d do well to listen to your father, kid. And for your information, one of the Hutt’s lieutenants wants this place and a few others, and they’re willing to pay a high price under the table to us to assist them in getting it. But you Sanddancers are a stubborn lot, and the last holdouts on this Maker-forsaken pile of sand to smarten up and leave. Since hints haven’t worked with you people, we’re going to spell it out for you. After we trash this hole and…

Zed spat on the scuffed white boots of the trooper standing to his side.

The trooper cracked the butt of his weapon against Zed’s head, knocking the shorter, skinnier brother to the ground.

Mo and Da both brought their hands down and lunged towards Zed, who was holding his head and moaning in pain. Lar leaped up at his brother’s attacker, his large arms ready to crush and kill.

Weapons flashed. Lar fell. Mo and Da fell. They shot Zed and he stopped moaning and lay still.

The sergeant walked over to Da and nudged his body with his boot. “Stupid bunch of sand-headed farmers. That was for leading our brothers to their deaths, when all they were going to do was have a little fun roughing up your daughter.”

He stopped and looked at the other five troopers who were standing still, waiting for further orders. “Burn the bodies and ransack the place, but don’t destroy it. The Hutts’ll claim this place and sell it. They won’t care about these folks, but things’ll get tense if we burn down what they consider to be their property.”

“What if we make it look like rebels?” said a trooper hopefully.

“Good idea,” said the Sergeant. “Paint some samples of that weird little bird symbol of theirs on here, and…” the Sergeant paused, looking right at the camera. “What the blazes?!? Shut that camera off!” he barked, his black gloved hand filling the screen as it reached for the camera lens. “Do you realize the trouble we could be in if we…”

The camera bobbed and weaved, finally going black as the words END TRANSMISSION slowly crept across the bottom corner of the screen, one letter at a time.

“Jada…” Dav said quietly.

“You saw?” she said. Her voice sounded tinny when filtered through her helmet’s radio, but the tears behind her voice were unmistakable.

“Sixty seconds to target window,” said the targeting computer in their helmets.

#

...TO BE CONTINUED...