Form III: One Man Fortress Against All Odds.

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon had finished his beer and reluctantly ventured back out into the Tatooine heat to the old mission building on Boonta Street. He'd found a small contingent of believers there bowing in the direction of the rising suns, and he'd stood listening to their prayer chants in Huttese, not the style of worship he was accustomed to, but wondrous and refreshing all the same. He'd spoken with the old woman who led the small service and learned, to his disappointment, that the minister he'd come to see was long gone, called back to Nar Shaddaa on a family emergency.

Now the reverend was trudging through the dusty Mos Eisley streets to the spaceport where he'd landed the Exodus, considering whether he ought to try his contacts in Mos Espa or Bestine or whether the sudden influx of stormtroopers was a signal that he ought to leave Tatooine altogether. That was when he heard Wei.

Even a preacher isn't accustomed to hearing voices from above. Solomon looked up and pulled down on the broad brim of his hat to shade his eyes. Wei on his rooftop perch was nearly a silhouette against the blazing blue sky.

"Oh, there you are," the preacher said. "What's the problem, brother?"

A crazy thought occurred to him - he really hoped he wasn't going to have to talk this young man out of jumping.