“You must have thought it a simple task,” Vader said.
“Initially, indeed,” Tarkin said. “Until Jova allowed me to observe the hill and the spire through macrobinoculars.”
“Your eyes were opened.”
“Jova said that I could take as much time as I needed to assess the situation and decide on a course of action, and I spent the better part of my sixth season on the plateau doing just that. The first order of business was to get to know my enemy, which I did over the course of the first couple of weeks. I would conceal myself in areas of forest or in the tall savanna grass and observe the routines of the veermoks, which rarely varied from day to day — or perhaps it’s better to say night to night, since that was when they would emerge from their hill caves and set out on communal hunts. The feasting that resulted from their hunts would continue for most of the night, sometimes at the site of their kills or sometimes back at the caves, where the females fed their gray-skinned young. With the return of the light and the heat, the males would ascend to the top of the hill and sprawl on the rocks at the foot of the Spike, which I was never able to get a good look at, even through the macrobinoculars, as the hill was the tallest feature for kilometers around in every direction. Midafternoon, the veermoks would make their descent, gathering at a watering hole to drink before repeating the entire routine.
“The water hole became my preferred place for observing them, and it was there where I began to get to know some members of the troop individually. Their dominant member was a dark-striped male, large and battle-scarred, to whom I gave the name Lord. During my weeks of stealthy observation, I saw him challenged at regular intervals. Sometimes the fights would be to the death, but more often Lord would allow challengers to limp away in shame but remain part of the troop. Since it was impossible to defeat him, there was much competition among his subordinates to get close to him. In some sense, the fights were as much about training as they were displays of supremacy. Lord was teaching the weaker males, aware that he would eventually have to yield his position for the sake of the troop. The rest understood this and as a result followed his lead in all matters. I don’t think the species is capable of abstract thought, much less truly sentient, but they do communicate with one another through a complex language of displays and vocalizations.
“There was a second male that caught my attention — a younger and smaller veermok who always seemed to be in Lord’s shadow, so that was how I began to think of him. Shadow would tag behind and watch Lord from a respectful distance. Sometimes Lord wouldn’t abide the scrutiny and would run Shadow off; at other times he tolerated the younger veermok’s attempts to learn from him. What interested me most, however, was that Shadow had a following of his own, a subgroup of some eight young males who accompanied him wherever he went. Lord tolerated them as well, so long as they kept their distance, which they always did, retreating if he so much as turned in their direction.
“It was at the water hole that Shadow and his group began to take an interest in me. They observed me observing them, and began to study me as something curious that had showed up at the edge of their carefully defined domain. Sated from the previous night’s hunt and having dismissed me as a threat, they demonstrated no immediate interest in killing me. At that point in my life, I had never heard of a veermok being domesticated, but I had heard of people who used the creatures as watchbeasts, and I imagined that it was possible to enter into some sort of partnership with them. I thought that perhaps I could make use of them as allies of a sort, either when I was at the Spike or in making my escape; and so each day I would try to edge closer to them, only to have them challenge me on every occasion, forcing me back across the invisible line of their hunting grounds.
“When I determined I had seen enough, I set myself to the task of thinking through the separate challenges I faced: getting to the top of the hill; climbing the Spike; and getting away — assuming I even survived the ordeal. Neither Jova nor any of the others offered help.
“Getting to the hill was going to require nothing more than moving while the veermoks were in the caves. I would emerge from the copse of forest closest to the hill, cross an expanse of savanna, and pick my way through the boulders to the top. There would be no shade and no rest, and some of the crevasses between the boulders appeared deep enough to swallow me whole. If I wasn’t safely at the top by the time the veermoks emerged from the caves, I’d likely be torn apart on the hill.
“The spike itself presented problems of a different sort. The edges of the black glass column appeared sharp enough to cut through cloth or hide or human flesh. So I devised a strap made from a duranium-threaded belt I found among replacement parts for the old speeder we used from time to time; and from that same belt I also fashioned thick soles for my boots and protective pads for my hands. I knew that even the veermoks’ muscular legs weren’t powerful enough to propel them to the top of the Spike, but there was still the matter of my remaining on the flat summit for the entire day. Especially after Jova allowed that the veermoks might delay their nocturnal hunt until they had dealt with me. The vibro-lance was meant to counter that eventuality, though the lance wouldn’t contain enough charges to kill or stun all of the males. Worse still, they weren’t frightened of the vibro-lance. In run-ins we’d had with solitary veermoks, they had evinced no fear even of blasters and had often proved agile enough to dodge beams. Add to this that I would have to scramble down and fight my way to the bottom of the hill and cross the savanna in darkness. That was where some of my predecessors had failed their initiations. Jova said that I would see what remained of their bones scattered about, as if the Spike were some sort of Tarkin reliquary.
“To provide myself with an advantage, I spent days working with a shovel — while the males were lazing on the hill and the females were in the caves tending to the young — to excavate a series of traps and pits along what would be my escape route, some little more than deep holes, others with floors of sharpened stakes.
“Then the day came.
“I made my crossing through the tall grass and scampered up onto the porous, fine-grained rocks. One slip and I could have broken an ankle or become permanently wedged between the boulders. Venomous insects attacked me from hidden nests; stinging ants streamed out from hills of their own making; serpents rattled in forewarning. The heat beat down on me. Nature had conspired to make the hill a last stand against technology and civilization; a place engineered to test a sentient’s resolve to conquer and survive. But I endured.
“The Spike loomed above me like a lightning rod, a solidified puddle of black glass at its base. I threw the strap around it, planted the thick soles of my boots against the edges, and hauled myself up centimeters at a time. The ascent took much longer than I had anticipated, and I had scarcely reached the flat, slightly angled top when the first of the veermoks arrived.
“Seeing me there sitting cross-legged atop the Spike, the vibro-lance hanging over my shoulder, they began to hop and circle round in mounting, growling agitation, uncertain, perhaps awaiting instructions from Lord. Alone among them, however, Shadow merely sat on his haunches to watch me, communicating with members of his clique by clacking vocalizations. Finally Lord made his appearance, gazing up at me with fury in his eyes — and what struck me as hatred at having to be put to a test so early in the day. I wondered if some of my ancestors had survived by killing the dominant veermok, thinking that would dissuade the rest. But I didn’t believe that would work; not with Shadow standing by to assume leadership.