The massive, woolly bantha plodded through the desert, its rider vigilant. The Terminator's eyes swept the landscape, analysing every detail. Suddenly, the locator in its pocket emitted a sharp beep. Retrieving the device, the Terminator confirmed its position. The target was near.

  Looming ahead was an imposing palace, its stone and plaster walls stretching wide across the barren terrain. A high perimeter wall encircled the compound, and at its centre stood a grand entrance, guarded by two immense, tightly sealed doors.

  Riding the bantha close to one of the tall walls, the Terminator stood up on its back and leapt into the air, grabbing the top of the wall. The machine hoisted itself up quietly, and as it peered over the wall, it saw a sprawling courtyard within the palace grounds. Several guards loitered about, some lounging while others laughed and drank Corellian Ale, blissfully unaware of the intruder observing them.

  The Terminator surveyed the palace and identified a potential access point. It decided to use stealth instead of confronting the guards, knowing that an attack would likely alert anyone nearby and jeopardise the mission. Carefully assessing the surroundings, the Terminator dropped down quietly from the top of the wall, landing in a less visible area of the courtyard.

  The Terminator moved stealthily through the shadows, inching closer to an arched window. A guard slouched in a chair, half inebriated, his feet propped up and eyes half-closed, barely aware of his surroundings. The Terminator approached silently from behind, swiftly twisting the guard's neck with a sharp crack.

  The Terminator shifted its focus to a small arched window fitted with a wooden shutter, identifying it as the weakest access point. With a swift motion, it yanked the shutter open and climbed inside, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

  Inside, with the Hutt crime lord away on business, the guards had grown complacent. In a dimly lit corner, four Nikto guards huddled around a game of chance, their attention fixed on the dice clattering across the floor.

  The winner let out a triumphant roar, his scaled hands reaching eagerly for the pile of credits. However, his celebration was abruptly interrupted as a powerful grip seized him from behind. The Terminator plunged a vibroblade into the reptilian guard's back, silencing his victory cry and replacing it with a gurgled gasp.

  The remaining three guards scrambled to their feet, fumbling for weapons. Their movements were sluggish, dulled by the Corellian ale they'd been drinking all day. The Terminator dispatched the guards one by one, leaving their lifeless bodies crumpled on the floor.

  Moving silently, the machine advanced toward a vast throne room. Inside, it revealed a space filled with various alien creatures. Most were scattered about, caught in different states of slumber—sprawled on the floor or slumped in chairs. Atop a grand pedestal sat the throne, occupied by Gardulla's Majordomo.

  The high-ranking assistant was a corpulent Twi'lek, one of his lekku visibly scarred. His eyelids drooped heavily as he fought a losing battle against inebriation. Finally succumbing, he slumped backward, his drinking horn tumbling from limp fingers. The vessel's contents spilled across the pedestal as the Majordomo collapsed in a drunken slumber.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  At the far end, the Terminator's optical sensors detected Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes, a band of musicians with distinctive bulbous heads, quietly packing their instruments as they prepared to leave for the night.

  The Terminator’s optical sensors conducted a detailed scan of the room, identifying twenty targets. However, Anakin was not among them. The data suggested that intoxicated individuals might display unpredictable behaviour and heightened aggression. Consequently, the optimal strategy was to avoid combat, moving forward with stealth to the next location and engaging only if absolutely necessary.

  The Terminator lingered in the shadows of the entrance, watching as the band departed. It then quietly navigated through the throne room, carefully stepping around the snoring lifeforms toward one of the entryways on the other side.

  Weazel stood outside Gardulla's bedroom, having planned this heist for a long time. He studied the control panel beside the door and, with great skill, disarmed the alarm and hot-wired the electronic lock, bypassing the security systems with specialised tools. The door opened invitingly.

  With his small, compact, squat frame, Weazel crept silently into Gardulla's opulent bedroom, the dim light glinting off the treasures scattered throughout the room. His eyes gleamed with greed as he spotted the glimmering jewels piled carelessly on a velvet cushion. He began to sift through the sparkling collection, pocketing as many valuable pieces as he could fit into his pockets and toolbox.

  He came across a rare gemstone and tried to stuff it into his pocket, but it was already overfilled. In a moment of desperate inspiration, he popped the precious stone into his mouth. It was shaping up to be a good night, but now it was time to escape with his fortune.

  As Weazel turned to leave, his heart racing with a mixture of fear and excitement, he found himself face-to-face with a towering, muscular figure. The stranger's hand moved swiftly, producing a gleaming vibroblade. Weazel's jaw dropped in shock, and the precious gemstone tumbled from his mouth, clattering to the floor.

  "Please, don't kill me," Weazel pleaded, his voice quavering. "Take it all."

  The Terminator paused, its optical sensors focused on Weazel, initiating an immediate threat assessment:

  [SCAN COMPLETE]

  TARGET: Humanoid

  THREAT LEVEL: Minimal

  PHYSICAL CAPABILITIES: Below average

  WEAPONRY: None detected

  CONCLUSION: Subject is a non-threatening life form with no combat capability.

  Weazel continued to plead for his life. "There's more. I'll give you anything you want."

  "Where are Shmi and Anakin Skywalker?" the Terminator demanded, its voice devoid of emotion.

  Weazel swallowed hard, his throat dry. "They're not here. Watto owns them now." As the Terminator advanced, Weazel hastily added, "They're at Watto's scrapyard!"

  The Terminator stepped forward, bending down to face Weazel. "The navicomputer located them as being here."

  "The navicomputer is wrong," Weazel insisted. "I know Watto, and he recently won Shmi and Anakin in a bet. He has them now."

  The Terminator analysed Weazel's voice and detected no deceit in his tone.

  Weazel squeezed his eyes shut, expecting death. He reflected on what should have been a perfect heist had taken a disastrous turn. He braced himself for the worst but instead heard retreating footsteps.

  Weazel bent down to retrieve the rare gem from the floor. Cautiously, he peered through the doorway, but the menacing stranger had vanished. Not wanting to test his luck, Weazel decided it was time for him to disappear as well.

  Outside, the Terminator commandeered a landspeeder and programmed Watto's scrapyard into the navigation computer. A map flickered to life, pinpointing the exact location with a bright marker. With a low hum, the landspeeder roared to life, and the Terminator sped off, leaving the palace behind.