Getting up from the ground, I began to slowly walk around the mighty machine, making my way to the ramp near the nose, which was open and showing its cool interior to the hungry desert. From here I could get a better look at the thickness of the Sandcrawler's walls, and from that, it became clearer why the Jawas behave so boldly and arrogantly while traveling through Tatooine. Such a behemoth couldn't be shot through with the toys of local craftsmen. I think only a starfighter or a tank could pierce such dense armor. And surely the Jawas wouldn't sit still and wait for you to break inside their sacred transport... No-o-o. The shorties are quite capable of defending themselves and have proven it more than once, explaining to the particularly arrogant what such a thing entails.
But let's return to the crawler itself, or rather to that dark passage that had opened like the maw of a beast.
Inside was a true attic of treasures...
Robots, or droids as the locals call them. All sorts and kinds, but mostly shipboard, construction, and mining droids. Among them were many assistants and secretaries that had likely lived in mining settlements before those very settlements were looted... and it was far from certain that the desert dwellers were the ones who did it.
There were weapons and tech here. From a lousy blaster and a toaster to a shipboard laser cannon and a speeder. Yes, a real speeder, of which there were very few left on our side of the planet. And by local standards, these were incredible riches, with which one could build more than one settlement and flood it with people. One could become a true king of their own little world and do whatever they pleased there... or rather, whatever they managed to accomplish. For possessing such things, one's head would be cut off on the first night.
Various animal bones and skins also lay about here. A multitude of all kinds of trophies that had been found or bartered by the Jawas in exchange for their own finds.
The funniest part was that all of this held equal value for them. Everything gathered with their own hands, dug up, bartered, stolen, or "honestly privatized." All these things were unequivocally important.
The only downside to this whole cave of wonders was the smell. No, that's not it. It was a stench. A horrific, suffocating stench that made one's eyes water and caused saliva with an unpleasant aftertaste to gather in one's mouth.
As much as everything here could amaze, it could just as well repel, for the stench literally permeated every millimeter of the hangar.
Taking a deep breath of the last scraps of clean air, I step boldly inside. I've been drenched from head to toe in Terminid innards; what's a bit of unwashed bodies and sweat... and lubricant... and oil... and some strange-looking dishes made of cactus, pumpkin, and womp rats? And everything was topped off with the aroma of the robes. Yeah, Jawas treat all their clothes with special ointments to ward off predators and insects.
The shorty who had accompanied me the whole way ran out from the crowd of chattering Jawas and, grabbing my hand again, pulled me deeper into the Sandcrawler, constantly saying something.
I had to duck my head, and at one point we turned from the main hangar of the mighty machine, and I moved through the corridors on all fours. Constantly catching my shoulders and knees on every corner I encountered.
So, swearing and gaining new bruises, I crawled to the very top. And you know what I'll tell you?
If you've never tried to climb to the height of the fourth floor using a ladder from a toy house, you won't understand the full height of my moral and physical pain!
Tired roughly as much as if I had made that same journey through the desert again, I tumbled into the Sandcrawler's control bridge, where the ceiling allowed me to at least sit normally. The cabin, spacious for Jawas, was done in a maximally minimalist style and fully reflected its owners... All the equipment was old and worn. Many parts were replaced with simple equivalents from scavenged materials. Sand huddled in the corners and sometimes flew underfoot, blown by a fan.
Yep, they had a basic fan in the bridge that spun from side to side, creating an air flow and chasing dust and sand around the bridge.
Almost all surfaces were lined with metal; here and there lay the Jawas' favorite weapons—small pikes, slings, blasters with an ion charge intended against technology.
The shorties themselves were actively moving about and doing things, but every moment I caught their interested gazes, especially directed at the shorty who continued to pull my hand.
And we were going straight to the center of the cabin. It wasn't hard to guess, for several seasoned Jawas had gathered there, and most importantly, the Sandcrawler's captain stood there, or in the Jawas' variation—the tribal chieftain. And next to this chieftain, who differed from the others only by more diverse gadgets on his load-bearing vest, stood an elderly female representative of his race, with a carved staff in her hands.
"A Shaman..."
Awareness pierced my head. I had heard of them and even seen one from afar, but to walk up close like this? Never. Jawas, despite their cowardly and non-militant character, were ready to defend her at the cost of their lives, even entering the most hopeless battle.
And the fact that I was brought directly to her spoke volumes. Especially about my traveling companion... though more likely she was a companion.
"You're a girl, an apprentice," my whisper was heard by the shorty, and she turned around indignantly, folding her arms across her chest and glinting her eyes militantly. Accusation was heard in her entire pose. "Of course, I understood that immediately. No need to make a fool out of me..."
"Heh-heh-heh..."
Our strange one-sided spat elicited a quiet laugh from the Shaman. And this served as a trigger, allowing most of the bridge's inhabitants to relax. All except the chieftain, who continued to watch my every step closely.
Tapping her staff against the floor, the old Shaman walked toward us, driving off her kinsmen who got in the way with light waves of her hands. She walked confidently and quite slowly, completely sure of herself.
Standing before me, as I sat on my ass in the middle of their bridge...
Sounds like the beginning of a cheap comedy.
...she stood opposite, after which she reached for her belt where she activated some device in a couple of movements.
"The Great Mother of the Nial clan greets you, stranger," as it turned out, on the Shaman's belt was the disassembled brain of a protocol droid fluent in thousands of languages, and next to it hung a speaker through which a rattling mechanical voice was heard, "The Great Mother expresses her gratitude to you for saving her apprentice, who in her foolishness almost perished in the desert..."
At the last assertion, the shorty I'd saved began to indignantly say something back to her elder kinsman, but after receiving a thwack on the head with the staff—she immediately fell silent, sitting on her knees. It all looked so comical that I had difficulty suppressing a smile.
"The Great Mother says her successor is young and foolish, which is why she constantly gets into such situations. And even though the Great Mother is tired of paying for her rescue, she is obligated to thank you..."
With a meaningful look at me, the old Jawa tilted her head to her shoulder, leaning fully on her staff. The others around fell respectfully silent, awaiting my answer. They behaved like meerkats and literally turned their heads after me while I processed what I'd heard.
"Um, okay. Nice to meet you," scratching the back of my head, I remove my protective goggles, letting them hang by the strap. It was a bit unusual, sitting like this, surrounded by grateful beings... But even if they aren't human, it was still pleasant to me that events had taken such a turn. The first small victory on the path to my goal. "You can drop me off at some settlement."
"The Great Mother is glad that you didn't ask for much. And your request will be fulfilled," a new pass of her hands, a series of clicks, and the Shaman calmly turns and leaves for her place, while a couple of shorties begin pushing me in the back, intending to drive me from the bridge. Pity, it was many times more pleasant to be here than outside or in the stuffy hangar.
"Yeah, I get it, I get it..."
Brushing off the persistent little creatures, I was already about to traverse that horrific and terrifying path down the toy ladder again. A shiver ran through my body at the mere memory, and I seriously began looking at the window through which one could jump out and immediately reach the ground. Or even climb onto the roof...
But then, the shorty lunged at the two Jawas pushing me, knocking one off his feet and delivering a clip to the second. Clearly not mincing her words, she drove both off, after which she beckoned me after her, leading me out through another door that led to a semblance of an elevator.
"Now that's more like it... because mimicking the snake from the old game again didn't appeal to me at all."
Just a few button presses and I, along with my grateful rescuee, hurtle downward... "Hurtle" is, of course, a rather strong word, considering we got stuck twice, and the freight elevator traveled at a speed of a couple of kilometers per hour.
But the main thing was that the journey ended, and I was back in the exquisite hangar full of all sorts of goods. Only this time the doors to the outside were closed, and the entire room inside was lit by a dozen grimy lamps, with sand huddling even inside them.
The lamps were all different, which is why the light shimmered in all shades: laboratory white, cozy domestic, flickering apartment hallway, red emergency, blue medical, and even a couple were from some signs. My eyes were dazzled by all this variety, and tears began to gather in the corners of my eyelids.
But I wasn't given a chance to recover or come to my senses. Firmly grabbing my hand, the shorty led me deep into the hangar, leading me further to where speeders stood behind the droids and appliances. And opening one of them, she nimbly jumped inside, disappearing into the darkness of the cabin with a covered top.
For a few seconds, I stood in the working silence, and only the strikes of tools against metal and the rustle of Jawa robes broke it. Shuffling in place, rolling from heel to toe, I had already thought of going somewhere further—not seriously, of course, but the thought flashed...
And at that moment, the shorty's head popped out of the speeder. Squeaking indignantly, she beckoned me into the speeder, inviting me to climb inside.
"You want me to come in?"
A multitude of positive head nods were my answer.
"Fine. I hope there won't be any foolishness... Mother-Democracy!"
Entering the cabin of the scuffed speeder, I was extremely puzzled... to put it mildly. My eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets, and my eyebrows rose in surprise.
The interior of the cabin was in amazing condition, especially for a planet like Tatooine. Yes, maybe in the Mid Rim or in wealthy worlds, even a hobo wouldn't crawl into such a machine, but here... Fairly clean fabrics covered the windows. The soft hide of some ancient beast was spread on the floor. A multitude of small parts, all sorts of mechanisms lay on all surfaces, stuck out from partially open shelf drawers, and even threatened to fall out of the cabinet...
But that wasn't the most important thing. The coolest and most amazing part was the huge bed. Well, huge for Jawas, but for a beanpole like me, it was just right. I could even stretch my legs out there.
"God, I never thought I'd miss the army bunks from the cruiser."
Nodding toward the bed, I received permission from the shorty. Waving a hand at me, my little benefactress nimbly climbed out of the cabin, carefully closing it behind her.
"Now this is what I call a real gift." Like an old cat circling a puppy seen for the first time, I looked at this wonder of the world roughly the same way. A mattress that was soft even to look at. A blanket without traces, holes, or burns. And even a pillow stuffed with some hides! "Little trickster... you can't forbid living well, can you?"
The only thing that spoiled everything was the signature Jawa aroma, to which I had already grown accustomed; at least it no longer caused that sting in my eyes. Yes, upon first entering the Sandcrawler, I barely managed to keep my face, but now the scents of sweat, oil, local cuisine, and special ointments for the robes had grown stale.
Squeezing inside, fortunately, the speeder was spacious enough that I could move around it hunched over.
Settling on the bed, I didn't even have time to think about anything or just get lost in my thoughts, as I sometimes indulged in before sleep in this new life. Before, I simply hadn't had the strength for such things... well, or I died and was reborn already in the morning in a clone's body.
But now, as soon as I tucked my hand under my head, I immediately fell into sleep, exhausted by the long trek and the events of the last day.