There's rumor of salvage on Endor. Salvage enough to pool the clan's credits together, sell the ancestral sand crawler, and secure passage off of Tatooine forever. These desert-dwelling eyes twinkle in the star light, now with only a window pane between them.
Sleep? In the dark of the perpetual night they are expected to sleep? In the desert night there are far too many creatures for letting down your guard. And space is not without its monsters. The eternal night's foreboding stood as one of the many barriers to leaving Tatooine behind. Now among the littlest creatures have stepped out among the stars. It is hard to imagine their ancestors being the first nomads. What now terrifies them is a mundane journey for others. Oh, how the galaxy has changed.
Endor. Endor appears in the window view. The green of the earth, the Jawas once heard that this is how Tatooine used to be. But deep grey craters have stabbed into the crust of the planet's surface.
If Tatooine is any indication of Endor's destiny then the world has already begun to turn.
Their pilot insists that he is in control of the descent, but the glowing underbelly and shearing hull plating tell a different story. Perhaps there is another ship they should have chartered. Nonetheless,
a clearing of trees created by the debris of the salvage they have come to claim has made a suitable landing area for finally coming to rest after the long journey.
Paradise.
Flowing streams of good water on one side, mountains of salvage on the other, rain clouds gently gathering overhead, proof of abundance in vegetation beyond imagination that dwarfs the galaxy's dwarfs. The grass is another affair. It's unfamiliar stems tickle through their wrappings. But no matter. The Jawas will spend most of their time standing on the mountain of salvage.
Work has begun.
So early on, they have no need to dig down for what is in the earth. Some Jawas climb to the tippy top, and lower pieces down on ropes at staggered landings, given the size of the debris. By the end of the first day they have hardly made a notch in things. And by firelight they marvel in the shadow of the treasure trove before them. No sand people to get raided by. No competition on the surface.
Other salvagers prefer to pick among the orbital fair by the luxury of tractor beams.
There is no one to bother them here.
Maybe it will even rain tonight as
they leave themselves open to the sky.
In the morning, some of the clan are missing.
The Jawas quickly discuss the possibility that some imperials may have survived the rebel victory. Against the sand people a reprisal for such a raid would be hopeless, but there is not telling what kind of sorry state the imperials may be in. They settle on a small recovery expedition.
Rather abruptly they find evidence of stormtroopers. Dead stormtroopers. One helmet is split along the back from the top down. The white armor of the troopers is smeared red in places. A Jawa draws near enough to detect fur adhered to the armor by the dried blood. Curious though. These troopers remain, but there's tracks to suggest a half-dozen more were dragged away by their heels.
Why should these ones be left behind?
The Jawas follow the trail from the underbrush, but from now on stay off of the trail itself.
It is coming up to noon for Endor. As the sun ascends to its zenith in the sky the sound of drums rise to meet it. And there is the burning smell that Jawas are all too familiar from with Tusken camps.
High above, the search party discovers the village aloft in the trees. And there too are men yelling in galactic basic, screaming, cursing, and the meek pleading of their clan brethren mixed in as well.
Now practiced in high climbing, the Jawas mount an incursion into the tumulent village.
And the sight is not for the faint of heart. Armor removed, several troopers have already been treated to the rotisserie and the last of them are being lashed above fires over their own. Amidst the horror, this also occasions the Jawas' first view at the humanity concealed beneath the stormtrooper while they even now struggle against the carnivorous teddy bears; who by the way outmatch the humans pound for pound in strength and certainly number.
The imperials' helplessness is alone a great deal to take in and only leaves room for shock. No sense of triumph or comeuppance. Surely no fidelity. Simply an impossibility made manifest. The fact that the stormtroopers' armor has been removed likely helps dissociate one from the other in some of the Jawas' minds. And so the matter falls to the Jawas that they came for.
A dispassionate observer should wonder what, what happens next does to the Ewok mythology.
Sky people, stormtroopers, leave the clouds to walk upon the ground and they carry the sun's fire with them. Whereas, beings more intimate with the earth now shoot lightning among them instead of from the sky.
And in the ensuing chaos the Ewoks scatter before the harmless onslaught. All save one. One Ewok stands with a stormtrooper's blaster over his head and screeches his high-pitched little war cry.
He has mastered the sky people's fire and is prepared to brave the dirt people's lightning. Soon this ferocious little Ewok is struck and learns of the ion blaster's harmlessness, except, for the fact that his sky people's weapon has stopped working.
The Jawas retreat with their brethren
and return to the encampment.
That night the trumpets blast. Whistling through the night air, arrows sail into the encampment. Speeder bikes buzz the outskirts. But nothing finds its mark. The advance troop mince their way into the Jawa camp. In the renewed silence of the night the shafts from their arrows tickle like high grass, harmlessly bit into the earth. All around, the camp fires still burn.
Then with a bit of disturbed dust a couple of walkers rise from the loose wreckage they were concealed under and cast spotlights down on the Ewoks in the midst of the camp. A trumpet sounds the retreat, but the advanced troop has been caught dead to rights in the light. The Ewoks chatter in agitation and within one of the chicken walkers the clan leader delivers a brief command.
A protocol droid waddles out from the dark underbrush and joins the Ewoks in the spotlight.
She commences speaking with the Ewoks in their tongue. The lead Ewok turns and shouts
something to the chieftain. He waits a moment and stomps his staff.
Two new spotlights shine out from
the forest on the Jawas' walkers.
The protocol droid turns to address
the walker with the head of the clan.
DROID: A settlement has been reached.
The Ewoks and Jawas will come
together to salvage all there is.
No more raids will be conducted
by either party. The Jawas may make
a home from the firmament that fell.
There will be peace on Endor.
The Jawas and Ewoks erupt into cheers of celebration and assemble beneath the spotlights of the walkers; the Ewoks from the forest and Jawas from the wreckage. The festivities continue long into the night. And runners deliver food to the Jawas from the village.
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