1. EXT. COTTAGE – NIGHT
A single dim, warm LIGHT above the front door struggles into the soaking mist, revealing the front of a MODEST REED-WALLED COTTAGE, round and set over the water.
A REBEL slips by. Dark, ragged fabric from head to toe divulges only parts of a helmet and utility vest. We can’t see their face — and we never will.
MATCH DISSOLVE TO:
2. EXT. COTTAGE – DAY
Morning finds us at the marshy edge of a pleasant lake.
Three STORM TROOPERS march toward the door, their white armor Endor-style, and era. The FIRST TROOPER stoops, blaster sweeping the short crawlspace between the cottage subfloor and the lake. A few machines hang down, nothing big enough to hide a person.
Sub droid’s found nothing in the water.
Send it away.
3. INT. COTTAGE, CONT.
A familiar, visibly ageing Gungan answers the door.
Oh! Me’sa got officers coming here!? What can dis’sa be happening?
A rebel against the Empire has been tracked —
Jar-Jar’s foot catches unluckily on a set of ceremonial spears near the entrance, which go CLATTERING to the floor, nearly gutting the first trooper.
Step aside, Gungan.
Oh no! Rebels in meesa house? No no no! Find them!
The interior is spartan. Tidy. One room. Aside from the (many) mementos of state hung around the perimeter, it contains only a small kitchenette and a few sleeping cushions strewn about the floor.
The lieutenant gestures toward the ice box — the only space large enough to hide a person.
The troopers push past the hapless Gungan with levelled blasters.
Rebels in meesa ice box?! Oh no! This-a terrible!
With interlocking fire, the troopers approach. At a signal, one THROWS THE LID!
Both look in, nonplussed.
Half a sculptrin fish, sir. And, maybe, some cake.
Ooh! Meesa be saving that cake.
They lower their blasters, look around.
(into a comlink)
After a moment Jar-Jar quite calmly scoops up the spears, setting them upright and closing the door.
His little pot-bellied kettle WHISTLES.
Muy bad business. Muy muy…
He pushes the window open, cocking an ear.
Jar-Jar pours water and a sprinkling of plant grounds into not one — but two cups.
They’sa gone now. Is’a safe.
Two cushions, not touching, stir on the floor. The rebel pushes them aside, one from their legs and one from their upper body, hips sunk into a pit crossed by a bit of flooring — no doubt hidden by a domestic machine below.
I didn’t cover my tracks very well.
In sotto voce, we still can’t even tell the faceless rebel’s gender.
They’sa droid spying under the lake gone too.
(points reassuringly to his big ears)
You’sa Rebel, eh? You’sa fight the Empire? You’sa make war, so you’sa
spawn make houses, so you’sa spawn’s spawn make poems. Yes?
I — Senator?
Jar-Jar sits. In the bright sunlight streaming in from the lakeside window, his every wrinkle seems in sharp relief.
I’sa not a Senator no more. Never really was. Shouldn’t have been.
It’s not for making pretty up the past now; just living small life of
the old Gungan. My skin, it’sa not keep good water in or out, that’sa
how Gungans say it.
They said you might be able to help me get off-planet.
A swell of displaced water creeps stealthily toward the cottage. A ROBOTIC EYE — not dissimilar to the one at Jabba’s palace — rises to the surface, cleaving the water periscope-style. The rebel scrambles for the false cushions.
Ahh! Me’sa lunch here.
Underwater delivery droid EL-ZED disappears beneath the cottage. A manhole-sized iris HISSES open in the floor. The wet metal eye pops up through an appropriately-sized hatch to the side as a BATTERED METAL RACK rises into the room — atop it a metal, but unmistakeable, TAKEOUT CONTAINER.
Mmm-mmm! Smell’sa that good seaweed.
(He takes it with relish)
Thought I said no fish flakes…
EL-ZED BEEPS his inculpability.
Here, you’sa meet a good friend. Meet El-Zed Vee-Three. She’sa being
your ride out of here.
The rebel steps to the iris, gingerly testing the ladder-like delivery rack, and taking a peek down into the cramped, rusty delivery bay. The eye watches interestedly.
She’sa take you to the big kitchens at the seaweed factory. There a
slow freighter at the pad, leaving at noon. Just tell the captain an
old froggy sends you. Here —
(takes a small object off the shelf and tosses it to the rebel)
Very slow freighter. You’sa be wanting a book. This’a by a friend,
dear departed long time ago.
At a CLICK, a page of alien text momentarily appears in the air with a portrait of AMIDALA.
She’sa teach you muy thing about rebelling. Now go go. Time not
Thanks for this. I won’t forget you.
The rebel finds room inside the droid’s tiny hull, as the rack CLATTERINGLY retracts.
Not forget me? You’sa never met me!
The iris closes.
CUTTags: script, sfw, star wars