Trip to Batuu

I have been trying to identify myself as a traveling writer. To do that, one needs to travel. I grabbed a bag and pulled the family together just in time to catch the last shuttle. It had been a while since we had been out of town. The pandemic and the political violence in the streets have waned. I thought it would now be a safe time to satisfy my wanderlust.

The travel brochure promoted a fancy resort on the edge of the mountains that offered relaxing spas and cheap entertainment. So, we headed for Batuu.  It took longer than expected to get through customs at the port, and the atmosphere was ripe with tension. They were looking for someone. We were not the only people trying to hide-out and get away from it all.

The streets were crowded with tourists wandering from shop to shop, and mingling within the visitors were military police, and soldiers. There were confrontations, and I saw a couple people taken away in cuffs. The weekend we chose to visit this off-world vacation hotspot was the same weekend rebels were secretly inducting new membership into the cause. We were obviously lost and looked out of place. A land-speeder taxi offered my family safe passage to a rebel safe house twice. I refused and rushed to the resort.

We passed an Imperial run docking-bay with a Tie Fighter. In addition, hiding behind a nearby cantina, I spied an x-wing refueling. Our hotel jutted from the side of the mountain not far away. It would offer good views of the activity around town. Still, something told me all was not going to end well. Docked in front of our resort was the famed rebel Millennium Falcon. There was no doubt we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

At check in, the desk clerk whisked us behind doors, and we joined a group of fellow travelers. The hotel management apologized and promised the full 15,000 credit refund, but we could not stay. They had a transport fueling in the courtyard, ready to take us to a sister resort where it would be more safe.  The family and I boarded the small, standing room only, ship. We grabbed the ceiling straps, and waited, as an alien pilot ran the checks and heated up the drives.  The ramp closed and we stood in the dark shuttle not knowing where they were taking us. This was not the relaxing trip I had planned.

The ship took to the air smoothly. Everyone on board swayed with its swift movement. Then, the shuttle shook violently and pulled to the starboard. I heard the pilot shout, “They have us in a tractor beam!” A second later, the cockpit escape pod blew. I saw it fall back to the planet as we continued in the tractor beams pull. A shadow enveloped our small shuttle. The underside of a huge Imperial star cruiser opened, and we tracked into its hanger.

The ramp opened on our transport and I knew we were in trouble. A hundred armored sentries lined up holding blasters toward us. Surely, they didn’t think we were a threat. An Imperial officer in charge walked to our ship. Her boots echoed in the large hanger. She was dressed smarty in green fatigues and a cap. I guessed she was a lieutenant. A few metals adorned her breast, but I did not recognize her.

She stepped up to the ramp of our little ship “You are now prisoners of the Empire, captured in route to the rebel training facility. You will be held as a group until Lord Vader arrives to interrogate you.” An armed star trooper brandished his blaster directing us down a corridor without a word. I guided my wife and child along with the others. “Just do as you’re told,” I assured them. “We’ll be fine.”

“Quiet!” The trooper shouted, holding the blaster to my head. I did not say another word. He ushered us all into a side chamber and the door locked closed as he stepped back. The room was silent except for the whimpering and crying of a few of us captured. The empire had made a mistake. We were not fighters. We were all tourists!

Some blaster fire in the distance broke the silence. We could feel it in the floors and it was getting stronger. It sounded like it was just outside our door. Then, Sparks rained down on us, as the door crashed off its hinges. I could see a firefight down the hall. The smell of molten metal was in the air.

A fighter took cover inside our room. “Follow me, we are making a break for it!” He was dressed in black, cloaked in a dark robe. In his hand was a light saber. An orange fire glow lit the faces of the tourists near him. Our rescuer guided us onto a small hover transport and we fled from the storm-troopers, still firing in our direction. We skimmed through the back decks of the huge ship, evading soldiers. At one point, the hover cart raced between the legs of huge Imperial walkers, at rest in the cargo bay. It was a risky escape, but eventually we were off loaded onto an escape pod and jettisoned off into open space.

The auto-piloted pod dodged all the fighters and blaster fire to crash us down on a nearby planet. We splashed down in a small lake overrun with unimaginable rodent creatures greeting us happily, and welcoming us to Disney World.