DISCLAIMER: Star Wars one, folks. (Author's Note: This was written for my future niece to distract her from feeding her uncle Jack to the lions at the zoo. Somehow, it succeeded, and my love is not in the belly of a lion.) ------------------------------------ "The Hunter's Apprentice" by Jillian Parks ------------------------------------ Young Valkaria Gren gazed steadily at the marks in front of her, her Sunburst 180 lazer pistol held arm's length by both of her small hands. "That's good," her master and cousin Daro Chaik told her. "Pull your arm in a little. . . right. . . align your sight, make the blaster a part of your arm." She squinted her eye over the barrel of the blaster, crooking her elbow. "Like this?" "Right. Go for it." He turned his attention to the mushroom-like plants native to Vaeta-five. A "WHEE-CHOOW!" of lazer fire shot out of the girl's blaster, hitting the thin stem of the Ragnili Plant. Two more followed. Three mushroom-like caps fell to the ground. "Rather good. Are you sure this is your first apprenticeship, Amazonian?" Valkaria pulled herself up to her full height of five feet, tossing her jaw-length head of amethyst purple hair back. She grinned at her cousin. "I am the great- granddaughter of Pazkaica Gren, after all, the first bounty hunter of the Gren family of Amazonia!" Daro sighed, hearing this spiel before. "Who wiped the nose of Darth Maul with a pusle rifle and had a liason with Kenobi. . . " "So," she sniffed. "I even have a bit of Jedi in me, too." She stuck her tongue out at him. He smiled gently, remembering his own youth. "Now, watch this, cousin." She raised the blaster again, aiming for the leaf of the Ragnili. Another shot spat out, careening toward the plant. KER-PUNG! PING! TER-UNG! "Argh!" she fell back on her behind, barely avoiding parting her hair with the stray lazer pulse ricocheting around. Daro chuckled. "How many times have I told you not to aim for the leaves?" "Great Mother, those leaves are unfryable." "Is that a word?" he asked her. "To me it is." "Fine. Back to your lesson, Gren." "Yes, sir." The Intergalactic Bounty Hunters Corps headquarters was still an imposing structure in the decayed city of Tren'on. The college, though thousands of light years from our own planet Earth, had a Gothic Castle look to it with high, skinny towers, ceilings that reached to heaven that were always clouded with mist, and mile-high stained glass windows depicting over three hundred generations of bounty hunter service to the Empire in livid detail. The college itself was a weathered gray stone, showing signs of decay, a few years of recent neglect. The Honor of these men and women had a definable presence once the interior of the building was entered. It was somewhat Spartan, little furnishings, indeed, and the apprentices and their masters occupied only small rooms that answered the call of "sleep, study, and weapon storage". It was evening now, the last golden fingers of the sunset stretching out over the college's walls. The courtyard was open to the slate blue sky, fading to a rich, dark blue in the east. The apprentices shivered in their ponchos, the Autumn air biting at their noses and cheeks. The only one not affected was Valkaria, as she slung her red poncho over her shoulder, breathing in the crisp air. "Ah, just like back home," she sighed. Another student, an older boy with a ragged scar across his left cheek, nudged her, saying, "You Amazonian broads are freaks." "What'd you say, Creatian?" she drew her dagger up from her hip, placing it against his untouched cheek. "Speak kindly of my people or I'll give you a matching scar." "Like I care," he swiftly grabbed her hair, tugging. "Can *you* live with a bald spot, little girl?" Valkaria considered, wondering if she was fast enough to cut her hair from his grip and slice his face open. She decided against it-- she was only a first-year apprentice and he was a fourth-year. "B.F." Headmaster Festiv called. "Do you need to show off your masculinity by picking on first-year apprentice girls?" B.F. snorted, let go of her hair and walked off, grumbling. Valkaria resheathed her dagger, spitting on the ground in front of her. "Kakamatandis pig," she clenched her teeth, resorting to name-calling in her native tongue. Daro, on the other side of the courtyard, was running his hand through his dark brown hair, his steel gray eyes trained on the teenage male apprentice. "Jaff, your apprentice is going to be the death of mine." Jaff sighed, her bright lemon-yellow shaggy hair stirring in the cold breeze. "Daro, I've done everything with him. He's got the determination and balls to be a heckuva hunter, I grant that. Yet. . . he's got a coldness in his blood that I've only seen in old hunters, before they burn out." "I'm not the only one, then," Valkaria's master sighed. "Have you considered bringing it to the Headmaster's attention that he would not be an asset to the Corps?" "I have. Festiv says to let him graduate, it's his Wyrd to be a thorn in the side of the universe. I've a feeling *your* apprentice will do him in one day." Daro smiled, murmuring, "I hope so." The Gren family of Valhalla, Amazonia, in the Topaz System, was a proud warrioress family. Valkaria was raised among her matriarchical society with a strict code of honor and almost militant discipline by her mother and grandmother. She had learned much in the ways of fighting, and came to the I.B.H.C. college as an apprentice to her cousin Daro at age ten. She was alone in her room now, having left supper early in the mess hall to meditate on the day's lessons. She stood in front of the broken mirror, staring at her reflection wearing the same tunic and trousers she was. She was eleven- years-old, starting to enter that strange phase known as puberty. Already she could see the changes. . . She plopped down on her pallet, hooking her hands behind her head, staring up at the wood beam ceiling. B.F. was going to find a pulse rifle up his nose someday. A neverending barrage of insults about her people and gender-- he greeted her her first day by asking if she carried dollies in her pack. She never played with dollies; she carried a pulse rifle around with her since she was four-years-old. Daro entered the room, carrying a large package under his arm. "You okay, pain in de butt?" "Fine," she threw her sandal at him. "How about you, monster?" "Well. I have a gift for you, pulled some strings and had to pry it out of your grandmother Arkady's old hands--" Valkaria sat up, her violet eyes alert to the package her master held. If it was what she thought it was. . . Daro unwrapped it carefully from the linen sheet, spiralling around the three-foot long object. A thick-headed lazer barrel, black in color, appeared, followed by a silver, black, and red rifle body. Tied around the trigger guard were scalped hairs of Ferzing soldiers, a reminder of the Amazonian-Ferzing war of '48, and the two dozen soldiers General Gren mowed down with the pulse rifle when the rest of her company died. Valkaria gazed upon her grandmother's custom built weapon. "Lady Arkady Gren's Supernova pulse rifle, the only one of its kind in the galaxy!" she breathed, touching the Ferzing hairs delicately. "A gorgeous piece of weaponry," Daro added. "Auntie Arkady wanted you to have it for your apprenticeship should you ever decide to be a hunter. She forgot your mother had you a little early, and you've begun your apprenticeship with me. She finally conceded when I assured her you were ready for such power. Let's take it out to the practice range." Valkaria heaved the large pulse rifle up, wrapping her arms around it. It was about the size of a rocket launcher, the lazer eye about two centimeters wide. Weighed in at twenty kilos, the power pack was actually a nuclear battery that simply needed recharging when gotten close to over- heating. She finally slung the strap over her shoulder, her balance off-center. Daro shook his head. "You're too small to handle it right now." "I think not, master blaster," she chriped, swinging it toward the illuminated target area. She trained the nose on a target, the hologram of a Stormtrooper. "You've got gall to pull that one up!" she heckled her master. "If you keep your balance, I'll get you a pack of valencie candy!" "You're on!" Valkaria squinted her eye, lining up the rifle. She pulled the trigger. WUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRNNNNNN-PCHOOOORRNNN!!!! A thick orange lazer belched from the nose, slicing cleanly through the target's "stomach". The sound of rock cracking from the penetrated shield over the college's wall made clear the power of the lazer. Unfortunately, the girl was thrown back about two meters, landing on her behind for the second time that day. "WHAT THE--?!?!?!" a boy's voice screamed from the back of the target area. Valkaria and her Master turned to see who was stupid enough to be hanging out there. B.F. stomped out, his broken pulse rifle in hand (of the AK-10 variety, a water pistol compared to the Supernova). He faced the two, staring the girl down. "YOU WRECKED MY RIFLE, YOU BUBBLEHEAD!!!" Master Daro Chaik stood before the members of the Hunter's council, Valkaria standing at his side. Jaff and B.F. stood before the council as well. "A Duel of Apprentices?" Headmaster Festiv repeated. He gazed steadily over his wire-frame glasses at the two children, his old amber eyes faded to a pale gold. "She destroyed my pulse rifle on purpose." "I did not! You weren't supposed to be playing behind the target range!" "Silence!" the Headmaster ordered. "It is clear from your previous records that you two have locked horns before. You two will continue to do so unless we settle this. I'm afraid that what Masters Chaik and Jaff had suggested will have to come to pass. . . a duel." Valkaria rubbed her nose and called, "Headmaster, permission to speak." "Granted, Apprentice Gren." "Sir, with all due respect, I am not prepared for a lazer duel with a fourth-year apprentice." "Stupid little girl," B.F. giggled. "BUT--" she added fiercely. "I would be willing to fight him by dagger, as that is taught to every first-year apprentice." The Headmaster leaned back in his chair, sizing up both students. "Granted," he murmured. "Apprentice B.F., do you agree to that condition?" "By all means, sir," he bowed. "Then it is settled. A Duel of Apprentices by dagger, tomarrow at dawn, on the tor." Valkaria and B.F. bowed toward the Headmaster, then each other. "You're dead, Gren," B.F. hissed. "Shut up, kakamatandis pig," she spat. The next morning was cold and cloudy, the sky a deep indigo to the west and a gray to the east. The wind was fierce, snapping and tearing at Valkaria as she made her way up the winding staircase of the rocky tor. Her amethyst locks were pulled back severely from her face, exposing her deep violet eyes to the stair ahead of her. She wore the gray armor of the college, but the bracers and bands were her own, carried down from her great- grandmother Pazkaica Gren when she entered the Intergalactic Bounty Hunters Corps at the same age. Strapped to her thigh was the dagger she was given at the college. Heavy, with a thirty centimeter long blade, sharpened to split a hair. This was her dueling weapon. She sang an Amazonian battle song to herself on her journey up the tor. It was an old song, several thousand years old, but had the effect she wanted-- of stirring her warrioress blood and clearing her head of the last remnants of sleep. Young Valkaria stepped upon the flathead of the tor rock, the wind gusting fine sand across the top, swirling around her boots. She guessed the temperture just above freezing for Vaeta-five. Comfortable fight weather for an Amazonian. She stood and looked around, scratching her cheek. "Well," came a snotty male voice. "At least you can climb up the stairs, little girl." Valkaria turned to see B.F. behind her, shivering in his woolish poncho. 'Well, at least we have a more even match', she thought in relief, knowing her immunity to this cold was going to be an advantage for her. She locked eyes with him, violet meeting lime green. He was *okay* looking for a boy, but those eyes. . . they scared her more than she cared to admit. "Let's get this over with," she sighed. "I want to get back in time to breakfast." "As do I," he added. "But only one of us will enjoy it." She shook her head, wondering if she should just slit his throat to get it over with. A hologram of Headmaster Festiv appeared. Full size, standing before them in his white robes and long white hair, gazing into the distance. "Apprentices Gren and B.F.," he addressed them. "By request of your Masters, you shall have a Duel of Apprentices to determine who shall remain at the college and who shall leave with Dishonorable Discharge. Your choice of weapon is dagger. The first to be rendered immobile or calls 'pax', will end the fight. You will be observed by your Masters from a distance. May the Force be with you." The hologram flickered out, fading into the blue haze of the dawn. "Damned Jedi crud," B.F. muttered. "Won't they just let that sorry excuse of a religion die?" Valkaria turned, surprisingly swift for her, and back- handed him to the ground. "Speak kindly of my great-grandsire's title, you oofunzhi." B.F. sat up, wiping the cold blood from his lip with the back of his glove. "Amatida," he called her. "An Amazonian broad with Jedi blood somewhere. This *shall* be interesting, without any doubt." Valkaria felt the warrior sweat bead on her face, dripping down to the corner of her mouth. She darted her tongue out to lick it up, and replied, "Bring it on, Creatian scum." They circled each other, both going for their daggers at once, she holding hers in her left, he holding his in his right. "A handicap," Jaff whispered to Daro. "Teaching her left-handed." "Can I help it she is more portside than starboard?" The apprentices continued to circle. Valkaria drawing up every bit of warrioress blood, every cell of energy, the deepest power in her soul. "For Creatia!" B.F. cried. B.F. made a lunge, thrusting the blade into the right side of her ribs. She pulled back, raising her feet off the ground, catching the blade against the armor. CLANK! She landed a few feet back. Her feet spread apart and her body dipping low, her eyes locked to his to anticipate his move. "I don't recall anyone being able to do that," Jaff commented. "Amazonia is a different world," Daro stated. "Lower tempertures, and higher gravity. Here on Vaeta-five, her reflexes are much better." "Going to play defense?" B.F. asked. "I'm not telling you my plans, that'd be stupid," she answered. B.F. swiped at her, she ducked as the blade came too near her head. "You--" SWIPE! "--are--" SWIPE! "--the--" SWIPE! "--most--" SWIPE ! "--worthless--" SWIPE! "--amatida--" SWIPE! "--apprentice--" SWIPE! "--at--" SWIPE! "--the--" SWIPE! "--college!" "You know," Valkaria, dug her foot into the ground. "You talk too much." Her blade came in a round arc from her left side. B.F. hit the ground, but not without losing a chunk of his carrot orange hair. "Impressive," Jaff murmured. "He's pretty quick on the dropping." "You fight as well as most of the boys, Gren," B.F. stood up. "And you even look like the other boys, too!" Valkaria gasped, then remembered to channel the rising anger up into a ki attack through her hand and into the blade. "KA--" She sliced across the chest of his armor. "--KA--" He responded by nicking her shoulder. "--MA--" Her blade danced dangerously near his throat as he dodged it. "--TAN--" She locked blades with his, fighting to push the other's blade to their face. "--DIS" He threw a fist into her gut. She kicked him right in the chest, sprawling him arse over teakettle over the tor's surface. "PIG!!!" she screamed. "This isn't going to end by dagger," Daro sighed. "I wonder if the Headmaster would be upset by that?" "Most likely not. He went back to bed after he made his announcement." B.F. stood up, his eyes searching wildly for his dagger. "FLYING CRESCENT KICK!!!" Valkaria lept into the air, swinging her left leg around, plowing her foot across B.F.'s face. He stumbled back, dangerously close to the edge of the tor. She landed back to the ground, the male apprentice held his broken nose in his hands. "Are you a demon?!" he demanded. "Valkaria Gren of Amazonia, thank-you much, and *never* insult my gender!" Her dagger appeared in her hand and she slashed it up his right cheek. "Amatida!" he cried, unsteadily falling back. "B.F. don't--!" She sprang forward to grab him from falling. Her fingers enclosed over air, as he disappeared over the hundred foot drop of the tor. "NOOOO!!!" she screamed, leaning over the edge and watching him fall. She clamped her eyes shut, hearing the sickening crunch of bones breaking. "Oh, Great Mother. . . " she gasped. "I killed him." Valkaria turned around, and felt the contents of her stomach explode. She retched for a long moment, alone on the tor. "Jaff, we saw him fall, so where's the body?" "I don't know, Daro. He fell right in this location." "He couldn't have just gotten up and walked away. That kind of drop can kill a man." "We know that. So, where could the body be?" Darkness and the smell of ion drive matter filled the mind of B.F. as he regained consciousness. "How would you like to become a greater hunter than what the Corps can teach you?" He found himself nodding. "Work for Jabba, young Fett, and you will become the greatest hunter who ever lived." "And. . . the girl?" he asked weakly. "You have eternity for vengance, for you are among the Immortal Creatian, and will never die." Valkaria lay fetal on her pallet, refusing food and drink. 'I had killed a fellow apprentice,' she replayed the fact in her mind. 'I've never killed anyone who mattered.' Daro entered quietly. "Gren, come to dinner. The Headmaster knows it was an accident, you are not shamed by the college." "I killed him." "You maimed him, not killed him. You know how pig- headed the Creatians are and refuse to die by the hands of females. He purposely fell off to make it seem your fault and render you guilty. Best vengance from the grave-- Guilt." "I could have saved him." "No, you couldn't. He wanted to." ". . . ." "We never found his body. We searched all day. . . " he swallowed, and sat next to his cousin, wrapping his arms around her. "Val, listen to me. Part of being a hunter is experiencing death in all its forms. Capture is preferred, but it will have to come done to killing if necessary. Death is an absolute last resort. It is a way of Exsistance. Can't have Life without Death." "I never knew this would be a crisis of conscience," she whispered. "Have you ever experienced it, cousin?" Daro nodded. "When I was twelve, I killed a fellow apprentice during War Games. He had a grudge against me, too, and it was leading up to that. It came down to one thing: better to be a live lion than a dead jackal." "How were you able to get over it?" "It fades with time, cousin. Time is needed. You are Amazonian, of the warrioress caste, and you are meant to be employed in this work. You have the talent and the blood. Use them wisely." She nodded. "Will you come to dinner now?" "Yes." He patted her back, and got up to leave. "Daro?" "Yes?" "Thank-you." "Most welcomed." He left the room and she turned over to stare at the ceiling. At last, she stood up and made herself presentable. She took a deep breath and exited her room, heading toward the mess hall. Valkaria knew something Daro didn't know; the Jedi blood in her veins picked it up around midday. Apprentice Boba Fett *was* alive. . . somewhere. Somewhere. . . She knew their paths would cross again. Someday.