by Karen Miller
“Thank you,” he murmured, accepting it. “Master—”
“Drink now,” said Yoda, his fathomless eyes alight with warmth. “Talk later.”
So he drank the tea, which was hot and tart. Yoda poured a cup for himself and sipped in reflective silence. When the cup was empty he placed it with care on the low, lacquered tanfa-wood table between them.
“Grieve you do, for Taria Damsin.”
Taria. He put down his own emptied cup. “Does that displease you, Master?”
“No,” said Yoda, gentle. “Lose your way in that friendship you have not, Obi-Wan. Let her go you will when her time is come.”
The smallest spasm of pain. “When will that be? Do you know?”
Yoda closed his eyes, his lips pursing in thought. “Soon. But not too soon.” His eyes opened. “But no more of Taria Damsin will we speak.”
There was no question of dispute. “Yes, Master.”
Yoda rested his small hands on his own cross-legged knees. “Watched you I have, Obi-Wan, from your first day in the Temple. Drawn to you I was. As an infant, a youngling, a Padawan, a Jedi Knight. Burn in the Force’s light always you have.”
Not knowing what to say to that, he said nothing.
“And now…” Yoda sighed heavily. “Touched by darkness are you. Not turned to the dark, but noticed by it. Dangerous this is, Obi-Wan. Very dangerous.”
The chamber was warm, yet he felt chilled to the bone.
“To Lanteeb I send you for to Lanteeb must you go,” Yoda added. “Needed there you are, that much the Force has shown me since first you told me of Senator Organa’s concerns.” He leaned forward, his eyes frightening. “But great care must you take. Death and darkness on Lanteeb await. Misery. Suffering. Lose yourself there you must not.”
Profoundly unsettled, he stared at Yoda. “What have you seen, Master? I’ve tried to read the Force, tried to look ahead, but—”
“Never before so clouded has the future been,” said Yoda grimly. “Never so oppressive the dark side. Struggle to see ahead I do. Your fault it is not.”
But that wasn’t exactly an answer. “Have you any other advice for me, Master? Any suggestion as to how Anakin and I should proceed with this mission? It would be greatly appreciated.”
Yoda filled their cups again. Lifted his and sipped, inscrutable. “Trust your feelings, Obi-Wan. Guided you well they always have.”
And if Yoda had watched him his whole life, surely he had watched Yoda… and knew enough of the Jedi Master to know their conversation was done.
“Master,” he said, bowing. “I shall.”
Anakin and Obi-Wan left the Temple just before dawn, unremarked. Not even Yoda bade them farewell or good luck. Their leaving was unobtrusive. Subtle. Without needing to discuss it they blurred themselves within the Force. Faded from the world’s attention and took a circuitous speeder route to the commercial facility where their dowdy ship had spent the night.
The spaceport’s droid attendant checked them through without comment.
“Are we going to argue about who’s flying this bucket?” Anakin asked as the hatch-and-ramp clanged shut behind them.
“Be my guest,” said Obi-Wan. “I’ve nothing to prove.”
“Ha ha.”
He went forward to the cockpit, leaving his luggage for Obi-Wan to stow.
“Hey!” he called back. “You did remember to file the false flight plan, right?”
“What?” Obi-Wan called back from the passenger hold. “Oh dear. Let me think.”
In other words, yes. He grinned, knowing exactly the look Obi-Wan had on his face. “Just checking.”
Obi-Wan muttered something that was probably better not to hear or even acknowledge.
Anakin sent through the coded request for permission to depart Coruscant, then fired up the ship’s marginally adequate sublight drive. Listened to the idiosyncratic tink-tink-tink underneath its deeper throaty roar. Shrugged. Thanks to his maintenance work the previous night they’d make it to Lanteeb in one piece, and that was all that mattered.
See, Obi-Wan? I am learning to let go of the little things.
The cramped cockpit’s transparisteel viewport was intact, but badly scratched. He’d have to live with that, too. And with the sagging pilot’s chair that threatened to separate his spine in three places.
A console light flashed green. Departure confirmed.
Even though this ship was a piece of poodoo, it was still a ship. He was flying. It was freedom. Lumbering into the pale sky, cleaving the atmosphere, Coruscant falling behind, he felt his spirits lift despite the gathering darkness.
Don’t look now, Dooku. We’re coming to get you and your friends.
Chapter Eleven
The comm override came in loud and brash, shattering the passenger compartment’s comfortable silence.
“Attention, unidentified vessel. You are entering restricted Confederacy of Independent Systems space. You are ordered to activate your ID beacon and stand by.”
Seated at the small passenger compartment’s table, Anakin laid down his last sabacc card. “Well, it’s about time. I was beginning to think this whole Lanteeb invasion story was the result of somebody’s hangover. Oh.” He grinned. “And you lose. Again.”
Obi-Wan tossed down his own cards. “Honestly, I don’t know why I bother.”
“Honestly?” He stood, fighting the urge to laugh out loud at Obi-Wan’s disgusted expression. “Neither do I.”
The Sep warning came in again as he entered the cockpit. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Keep your trousers on, friend.”
He turned on the falsified ID beacon then cut the sublight drive. To be on the safe side he’d dropped them out of hyperspace well ahead of what would normally be the realspace reentry point for Lanteeb and they’d been crawling toward the planet ever since, waiting for the Seps to challenge them.
The ship shuddered gently as it lost sublight momentum. Beyond the cockpit’s scratched viewport the scattered stars shone beguilingly. Amazing. He was living his enslaved childhood dream, flying his own ship among the pinpoints of light that had been his only hope in those left-behind dark days. When he’d belonged body and soul first to venal, rapacious Gardulla the Hutt.… and after her Watto, who hadn’t been cruel, exactly, but was greedy and careless and willing to see him die racing a Pod.
I wonder what the little poodoo’s doing now. I wonder if he’s managed to claw his way back into another slimy Hutt’s favor. If he’s got some other little boy dicing with death in the Podraces, to make him rich.
When the war was over he’d go back to Tatooine and see. When the war was over he’d buy any child he found enslaved to Watto and find them a home where they might live and love in safety. Belonging to no one but themselves.
I should have done it before now. Wasn’t that my other childhood dream? Become a Jedi and free the slaves. Instead I became a Jedi and let myself forget. Let them convince me that it’s not our job to remake the Republic.
The Jedi were keepers of the peace, not legal enforcers. That was the Senate’s job. How many times had he been told that? He’d lost count. But the Senate was falling down on the job, wasn’t it? What was the use of having anti-slavery laws if the barves who broke them never paid for their crimes?
It was enough to shake his hard-won and harder-kept faith. If scum like Watto and Jabba and the other Hutts kept on making their fat profits on the backs of living property—and if the Senate continued to turn a blind eye—how could anyone believe in the Republic? How could he?
Padmé says she understands, but she hasn’t pushed for a Senate hearing. And Palpatine—he’s promised he’ll tackle the problem but nothing’s been done. It’s too political. Too corrupt. Too complicated. There are credits in slavery—and credits trump justice. Always have. Always will.
And the Jedi? They didn’t want to get involved. Even Qui-Gon…
So I guess it’s up to me. I failed my mother. I didn’t go back for her and she died.
But when the war is over I’ll make good on my word. I’ll fight slavery wherever I find it… and there’ll be no mercy for those who steal lives.
Footsteps behind him. Wary of his former Master’s ability to read him, he buried his stirred-up feelings deep.
“Any response yet?” said Obi-Wan, halting in the cockpit’s doorway.
“No,” he said, swiveling the pilot’s seat. “Looks like they’re being coy.”
Obi-Wan folded his arms, considering. “Or careful. But if there’s a problem, it won’t be with the ship’s ID.”
“We hope. After all, we’ve only got Bail’s word that Agent Varrak can be trusted.”
“Anakin…”
He held up his hands. “I’m just saying. I know you trust him. I know you’ve got good reason to trust him. But people can be fooled, Obi-Wan. Even a smart man can trust the wrong person.”
“Yes, well, while that might be true,” said Obi-Wan, “did you by any chance sense the slightest deception in Agent Varrak?”
The ship was starting to drift. Turning back to the console, he adjusted the port stabilizers. “No. I was too busy drowning in the waves of hostility. But—”
“Civilian cruiser Registration Nine-seven-nine-seven-five-five-six-slash-Vee. You have passed the preliminary weapons scan and are hereby granted provisional clearance. Disengage your nav computer protocols to receive coordinates and approach Lanteeb using sublight drives only. Any deviation from sublight speed or the designated trajectory will be deemed a hostile act and you will be eliminated.”
“Huh,” he said, and did as he was told. “They really are taking this seriously, aren’t they?”
“Which only confirms what we suspect,” said Obi-Wan. “Clearly there’s something worth hiding on Lanteeb.”
The nav comp chittered and flashed as their approach vector coordinates were remotely downloaded. Once the green ACCEPT light engaged, Anakin transferred helm control to autopilot and swiveled his chair around again.
“Well, Master Kenobi? Any last words of advice before we plunge into the enemy’s maw?”
Obi-Wan frowned. “You could try not being quite so flippant.”
Anakin grinned. “Nervous?”
“I have a healthy respect for the challenges that lie ahead of us, yes,” said Obi-Wan carefully, “but I’d not go so far as to characterize that as nervous.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, still grinning. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“All right,” said Obi-Wan, exasperated. “That is it. That is the last time I let you talk me into playing sabacc before a mission. Winning makes you altogether too cocky.”
Teasing Obi-Wan was one of his favorite pastimes. His former Master always rose so satisfyingly to the lure.
“You should try harder to beat me, then. Because honestly, Obi-Wan, you were playing like a lame bantha. I know younglings who could’ve won that last hand. Wherever your head was, it wasn’t in the game.”
He waited for Obi-Wan to bite—but instead there was an awkward silence. A sideways shifting gaze. A sudden thrum of unease.
“Obi-Wan?” He sat up, his own senses alerted. I thought there was something bothering him… and then I thought I was imagining it. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” said Obi-Wan, his denial automatic.
“Nothing. Really? You expect me to believe that?”
A flash of heat in Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I expect you to—” He bit back the rest of his angry retort. Made an obvious effort to release his temper. “I’m sorry,” he said, much more quietly. “I have a friend. She’s very ill.”
She? They’d only been back on Coruscant a couple of days and been nowhere save the Temple, Bail’s apartment, and the Bahrin district. Who had he seen except for—
“No, it’s not Padmé,” Obi-Wan said hastily. “Don’t you think I’d have said something if—”
It was hard to hear over the frantic banging of his heart. “Of course you would’ve.” Or she would’ve. Wouldn’t she? “Then who—”
Obi-Wan hesitated, then sighed. “Master Damsin. Taria.”
Anakin stared. I’ve known you all these years and you still surprise me. “You’re friends? I didn’t realize. You never talk about her.”
“I’ve had no reason to.”
He was the most annoyingly self-contained man… “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was sick.”
“Few people do. It’s a private matter.” Obi-Wan hesitated again, frowning. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Anakin—”
“Don’t worry,” he said gently. He’d never felt Obi-Wan so upset. It was unnerving. Made him wish he’d paid closer attention to Taria Damsin. “Besides, who would I tell?”
Before Obi-Wan could answer, the console’s proximity alarm emitted a feeble beep. Turning, Anakin looked through the viewport. Ahead, just visible to the naked eye, was Lanteeb, a tiny brown disk against the black backdrop of the insignficant Malor-77 system. The planet had a single orbiting moon, small and scurrying high above.
“Look at that,” he said. “We’re nearly there. Why don’t you go aft and strap yourself in? If the sensors are reading right we’ve got the tail end of an ion storm to fly through between here and Lanteeb’s spaceport.”
“Fine,” said Obi-Wan, subdued, and returned to the passenger compartment.
They did encounter the buffeting remnants of the ion storm. Their battered old ship tossed and shuddered, its pocked hull groaning, but it held together under the stress. With the turbulence safely negotiated the nav comp locked back on to their predetermined course, and minute by minute Lanteeb loomed larger. The Sep-designated approach was bringing them in on the planet’s day side, which meant Anakin could see its single inhabited continent clearly. The landmass looked like a grubby greeny brown raft floating on the planet’s enormous expanse of bluish gray water. Drab, uninspiring, not a single thing about Lanteeb struck him as romantic.
And new planets were supposed to be romantic, kriff it.
“Civilian cruiser Registration Nine-seven-nine-seven-five-five-six-slash-Vee. Disengage your autopilot and prepare for final approach and landing coordinates. Once received, return helm control to the autopilot and when you are docked stand by for inspection. Under no circumstances leave your ship until you are authorized to do so by a spaceport authority officer. Any deviation from these instructions will be deemed a hostile act and you will be eliminated.”
Mindful of itchy Sep trigger fingers, he did as he was told without delay. As soon as the nav comp flashed green again he reengaged the autopilot. Then, with nothing more to do, he wandered back to the passenger compartment where Obi-Wan was calmly tidying away the scattered sabacc cards, no hint of his previous distress. Master Kenobi had himself in hand once more.
Sometimes I wonder what it would take to really make him let go.
“You know,” he said, propping himself against a convenient stretch of wall, “whatever override technology they’re using to control this ship, it’s the best I’ve ever come across.”
Obi-Wan shoved the dice and cards into a storage compartment and closed it. “That’s hardly surprising. We are dealing with the Techno Union, after all.”
Anakin grimaced. “True.”
Which meant the only thing left for them to do now was wait until their ship made it safely to ground in Lanteeb’s spaceport. He hated this part. Hated losing control, being at the mercy of someone else’s whims. That was slavery’s enduring legacy. He knew he’d go to his grave resentful of any being who tried to usurp his independence.
I will never be a slave again.
Obi-Wan patted his shoulder in passing. “Never mind, Anakin. It’s not for long.”
Trust Obi-Wan to know what he was feeling. “I’m fine,” he said, pushing off the wall. The sharp movement bumped his concealed lightsaber against his ribs, and he frowned. It felt so wrong, not having the weapon hooked to his belt. Having to hide their lightsabers was another reminder that this wasn’t an everyday, ordi
nary mission. That while being a Jedi would doubtless prove vital to their success, in this place it would also mean instant death if their true identities were revealed.
He’d grown used to being visible. To being welcomed because he was a Jedi. But thanks to the war everything was changing. Thanks to Dooku and his conniving cohorts, societies that had once welcomed the Jedi now viewed them with suspicion and hostility. He still found that hard to reconcile.
But then, perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. People tended to think what they were told to think by whoever got to them first—offered them the most—or scared them the worst.
The compartment intercom crackled.
“Civilian cruiser Registration Nine-seven-nine-seven-five-five-six-slash-Vee. You are now on spaceport final approach. All occupants must be seated in the passenger compartment when spaceport authority officers board. Any attempt to interfere with officers going about their lawful duties will be deemed a hostile act and you will be eliminated.”
Obi-Wan’s smile as he slid on the compartment’s bench seat was particularly bland. “Oh dear. They do sound rather agitated, don’t they? Come along, Anakin. Time to sit down. We don’t want to distress the poor little Separatists, do we?” His smile sharpened. “At least, not yet.”
They landed and docked without incident, remaining seated in the passenger compartment, as ordered. Turned out there was no need for them to let the Sep inspection team in. Whatever technology Dooku’s misguided followers had used to control the ship made light work of the exterior hatch control. The ramp lowered and a gust of warm damp air blew into the ship’s belly, carrying with it the raucous sounds of clanging metal, whining laser saws, raised voices, running feet, furious swearing, and an exotic tang of the familiar and the strange. They smelled ship exhausts. Spilled fuel. Burnt oil and hydraulic fluids. Overheated wiring. Sweaty, unwashed flesh. Something rancid and long overcooked. A sizzle of wet salt. Something else—fresh tree sap? Odd, in a spaceport.
Then the sound of heavy booted footfalls coming up the metal ramp, ringing hollow with purpose and authority.