#Zeb Orrilios

[fuzzydemolitionsquad]

The Tractor

                                                   Part   1

A rusty GNK droid plodded across the farmstead’s dirt yard, its pace much slower than its maker had programmed it to be.

It was morning. The sun had just peeked over the humped ridges of evergreen trees in the distance. The air was already beginning to warm and the humidity was high.

The GNK tried to ignore the condensation building on its circuit boards. It made a deep gonking groan and tilted its boxy body toward the sky. How dreary it was to waddle around a farm, looking for something in need of power.

Why couldn’t I have been a spaceship, a sleek X-wing, or a roaring TIE? The sky beckoned. The GNK moaned sadly .

Its dream suddenly ceased to be when a circuit in its electronic brain crackled. Sense of duty restored, the GNK marched toward a shed containing the chooken brooder. There, behind a wall of woven wire, a passel of fuzzy, powder-blue chicks snuggled together. The cord to their heater box had come loose, pulled out by a pesky varmint who chewed it to a fray . The GNK  plugged a pronged service arm into the box and powered down to fifty-percent so that it could rest.

And dream.

Pa Trodd stepped out of the farmhouse’s door and stood on the porch drinking his morning caf. He snapped his suspenders and looked at the large and formidable anooba laying upside down on her back and staring back at him.

“ Whadda yew say ol’ Gracie. . . wanna hep me till that quarter acre fer ma’s garden?”

Gracie’s tail thumped the porch’s wood planking so hard it raised a ferocious cloud of dust. The anooba stood up and stretched and trotted over to where pa was standing.

“Dat’s my girl.” The lasat thumped her side and scratched her ears.”When we done ahl gives ya a nice big soup bone anna plate a kalgow jowls for breakfast. Howzzat sound?”

The anooba's brushy black and tan mane quivered. Pa stepped off the porch, slapped his thigh and whistled. Gracie galloped to his side,  her tongue lolling and her great jaws clacking. She gently took his wrist into her mouth and followed him to the barn where the old tractor sat.

                                                                **

Zeb Orrelios opened his eyes, stared up at the ceiling and smiled. He was back home.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love the barracks at the academy–on the contrary–all of his best mates were there. He chuckled as he thought of serious Geezer who–didn’t look like it– but had connections to the owners of every dive cantina and strip parlor in the Capitol.

Zeb checked his chrono on the nightstand and jumped out of bed. The delicious aroma of   bacon and maize-bread, fried eggs and beans tugged at his nostrils like a farmer leading a hammerhead bull by the nose-ring. Being away on leave meant ma’s home cooking and lots of it. It wasn’t uncommon for Zeb to put on  fifteen or twenty pounds during his stays with his family. Of course, it was all converted to muscle. Zeb  thought of the academy.  If it was one thing he didn’t like there, it was Private Rrazchow’s breakfast special, a plate of jellied meat chunks floating in greasy gravy and served on a couple pieces of stone-dry bread. Zeb and his mates affectionately referred to the entree as ‘dung on a raft.’

Zeb looked into the full length mirror and couldn’t help but smile. His stripes were growing a deeper purple, a nice contrast to the pale lavender of his base coat. His beard was darker too, and  a lot thicker than it was the last time he was home.

“Looking good.” He pointed into the mirror with both index fingers and made a clicking sound with his tongue. Pulling on a pair of skivvies he grabbed his scrub brush and towel and headed to the wash room to pump water into the round wooden tub he had taken baths in when he was a child. It seemed so big back then, a veritable ocean. Now he couldn’t even stretch out his legs.

Ma Trodd served up plates of bacon, beans and bread then padded back to the stove to pick up a huge iron skillet full of sputtering eggs. She went around the table, neatly plopping two eggs on every plate.

Jax rolled his eyes and slammed his elbows down on the table. “Aww ma, yew know I like mah aigs on m’ beans! Now there’s yolk all over the maize-bread!”

“Land-a-muddlin’ Jax!” Ma put her furry hand on her hip. “Yew done act like I kilt yer best friend. They’s a lot worse thangs happ’nin in thee universe then aigs a’leakin’ on bread!”

“I’m sorry ma. Didn’t mean t’ get yew riled.”

“She’s not riled.” Sister Sal said, cutting a dainty slice of egg with the side of her fork. “She’s worried. Mizz Yogg  was telling her about the Coruscant emperor. He’s got six more planets under his belt.”

Brother Muss wrinkled his snubby nose. “Huh? Whadda yew mean, sis?”

“He stole them. Not fair and not square.”

“How do you steal a planet?”

“With a lot of guns.” Puggles grunted through a mouthful of breakfast. Egg yolk glistened in his shaggy beard.

Sally nodded her head. “It’s true. Unfortunately.”

Ma’s yellow eyes flashed with fear. “ Some people is fightin’ back. Mercy. There might be another Clone Wars round thee corner.”

“Ain’t no Jedi left t’ fight um.” Brother Jimbo said, subdued, a sweating beer can held to his forehead. He hadn’t touched his breakfast. The hangover he was fighting demanded some hair-of the bantha first.

Sister Shoog changed the subject. “ I shore wish cuzzin Zeb could stay longer. He’s only got two more days, and he promised to take me to the fair.”

“Cuzzin Zeb never breaks his promises.” Said Muss.

“CuZzIn ZeB NEEEEEVER BreAKs his PrOmiSes. . . Puggles said in a wheedly, exaggerated voice, his face puckered like a dried korbapple.

“Did I hear my name?” Zeb said from the foot of the staircase. He hopped down and entered the kitchen.

Ma beamed. “ Bout’ time yew got up! Sit at the table. I’ll git yer vittles ready. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept like Firuz in his tomb.” Zeb  said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of his breakfast.  Maybe tomorrow ma would make her special spawffles and needle tree syrup. He was about to tuck his napkin into the front of his shirt when-

“Hey, did you all hear something?”

“ Like what?”

Like bellowing. Sounds like the Lunx’s  bull got out of his pen again.”

There was a stamping of feet out on the porch. Older sister Hallie opened the front door and hurried inside. She set her basket of herbs on the table and started to pour herself a cup of caf.

“ Pa’s out in the field and he’s cussin’ up a dust storm. I mean, worse then usual.”

“ Ma clutched her apron. “Goodness child! D’yuh think he’s a’right?”

“I asked him, but he jus’ kept on a hollerin’ and   carrying on. I think the tractor musta broke down or sumthin’.”

“Great an’ benev-lent Bearded One.” Ma groaned as she served  Zeb his breakfast. “I’m  gonna hear ‘bout this til thee end a’ days…Jimbo, Jax,  go see what’s goin’ on, woudja dears?”

Jimbo looked up. His yellow-orange eyes were rimmed with red. “ Ma! I jus found out mah girl is courtin’ another he-male! I cain’t take pa’s bellyachin’ right now. I’m too e-moshan-lee com-pree-mized!”

Shoog  rolled her eyes.

Ma looked at Jax, who panicked.

“I’m late for mah sparrin’ practice!”  The blotch-coated lasat rose from his chair and threw his napkin on his plate.

“Now where’s mah boxin’ gloves at?” Jax ran from the kitchen.

Zeb forked his food between two pieces of maize-bread, making a giant to-go sandwich. He  scooted his chair back and grabbed Puggles by his scrawny wrist.

“Let’s go help pa!”

“Help Pa? Is yew crazy? He’ll tie me into a Mon Calamari sailor knot fer intrudin’ on his bad mood!”

“ Not if we solve his problem.”

Pa raged. He pounded on the tractor’s hood and stamped the turf beneath his feet, turning it  into a large patch of dark dirt. Gracie sat on her makeshift perch next to the tractor’s seat, grinning and panting, her tongue darting in and out of her mouth. Every time a fist came close she attempted to give it a sloppy kiss.

“ WHAT IN CONSARN-A-SHUN IZ WRONG WID YEW, YEH BLASTED CONTRAPTION!!!???”

“TAR-BUBBLIN’ LAZYBUMP SONNAVA JUGHEADED PLEASURE DROID!!!”

“ POCKMARKED’ PISSENGINE!!

“CHEAP PIECE A’ RUSTED RUIN!!”

“DROIDSON BATTERYDOOKER!!!”

“Do you kiss ma with that mouth?”

Rufus Trodd whirled around. He saw his beloved nephew standing there, smiling, his demeanor as calm as a boodle bug floating on the surface of a still pond.

“She would faint if she heard you cursing like that.”

Pa’s giant mitt batted at the air. “ Aww. Not now Zebidiah. I’m inna awful gaumy stew.”

Puggles stepped out from behind his brave younger cousin.

Looky here pa, I brang yeh a nice cold one! I thanked yew could use it.”

The mammoth  lasat grabbed the offered six pack of beer, cracked each can open with machine-like speed and poured six streams of  golden brew into his cavernous mouth. He wiped  the stray foam from his mane and belched.

“Thanks son. Remind me not t’ call yew an ijit next time yew piss me off.”

Zeb approached the tractor. He ran his hands over three, still-warm engine cowls and sniffed the turbines and jet ports. “What’s going on with her?”

“She were running fine, then all of a sudden, she starts a’shaking and a sputterin’. Den the jets got all quiet-like. How did I blow up three engines? That tiller I’m towin' behind her don’t weigh that much. Hells, I towed a big ol’ howler-barr to thee taxidermist with dis here tractor. ”

Zeb scratched his head. “Was there any smoke?”

Pa thrust out his thick lower lip and tapped one of his fangs. “Now thet I think about it. . . not a hole lot. Jus’ a little puffin’ out from under thee hood.”

“Ah-ha. Pop the hood Puggles.”

The little lasat obeyed and the tractor’s  boxy mouth opened with a ‘TUMP’ Zeb raised the hood, looked inside and saw the problem immediately.

“It’s not the engines, pa. It’s your injector cylinder. Are you running super-lean Kashyyk oil in her?”

“Shore as dust I am!”

“Well, it must be  clogged with dirt. The guy you bought this from should have changed it before he sold it.”

Pa snorted. “Figures.”

Zeb changed the subject. He patted the old Agri-Hover. You know, inside, these tractors are almost identical to the inside of the tanks in the royal army. They really ARE well made. Let’s pull the injector and Puggles and I will go into town and get a new one.”

Pa looked resigned to his fate of plowing the field by himself. Why did he sell that good team of muley-tauns? They weren’t that long in the tooth.

“Payday’s not fer six more days. I don’ wanna ask ma t’ dip into her savings. She ain’t got that much anyway.”

Zeb grabbed Puggles by the ear and tugged him away’t so pa couldn’t hear.

“I have some extra pay this cycle.” He whispered.

“Must be nice.” Puggles' gold eyes flashed orange. “I cain’t even afford a lil’ teeny-eeny far-cracker or a pack a smokes.”

Zeb crossed his striped arms. “First of all, you shouldn’t be smoking. It’s bad for you. Second, you’re a liar. I know for a fact Hallie gave you credits for cleaning her shed. You put them in your. . . ahem, ‘detonite fund account.’”

The little lasat was incensed. He balled his bony fists and put them up, taking a fighting stance.

“I otta whup the green right outtta yer eyes yuh sucklin’-cub!! Of all thee indig-nitities! Called a larr by m’ little cuzzin!!!! Y’ain’t got the manners of that bitch anoobie over there! Come on, git yer dukes up!”

Zeb rolled his eyes and bit his lip. “ Not again.”

The young lasat was turning out to be a rather large and honorable soldier. One befitting of admiration and praise. How much longer was he going to allow his belligerent cousin to talk to him this way? Zeb sighed. A lasat couldn’t choose his family or the members within, but if he could have chosen, he would have picked what he already had,  the hard-working and sometimes crude,  spiritual, salt-of -Lasan Trodds.

“Alright you little a-hole. I’m sorry I called you a liar.  Do you have any creds you can spare? Any at all?”

Puggles put his fists down. He retrieved a toothpick from his pocket and wedged it between his crooked incisors. He made a sucking sound with his teeth.

“Maybe. . .”